Spring is mud season. I was reminded of this a week ago when my son posted a photo of my sweet little grandchildren playing in their driveway. (Yes, he is brave and they have a basement entrance to their house.)
One of my favorite childhood memories involves a backyard mud hole and two small children who spent hours mixing, stirring, and cooking up mud pies. We were both five years old. I baked plenty of sand cakes and cookies in later years, but I have no recollection of who my fellow bakers may have been, aside from my sisters. It's been over 45 years since Al and I set up our backyard "bakery" and still, in those rare moments when we meet up, the old mud pie factory becomes a topic of conversation. He even introduced me to his wife as the one who used to make mud pies with him. Fond memories live long. There's a story here.
This morning a distant cousin posted some old family photos. I have no idea who the little guy in the photo is, but I think perhaps mud is the original toy. God knows children and what they love. Good thing for the old farm pump. This small child probably never had to set foot in the house before getting bath and somebody long ago had the presence of mind to capture the moment on film, probably Kodak film.
The Bug Jar.
6 hours ago