Farm Table Talk: 40 Days, 40 Nights, and One Very Muddy Dog

If there’s one thing I’ve learned this week, it’s that Mother Nature has a flair for the dramatic. In the span of seven days, we’ve had snow, rain, tornadoes, flooding, an earthquake (yes, really), and more rain—because apparently, the deluge wasn’t quite thorough enough. At this rate, I half expect a pair of giraffes to saunter into the barn any minute now, looking for a seat on the ark.

The chickens, bless their soggy little feathers, look like they’ve gone for an unintentional swim. If I were in the egg-washing business, I’d have my work cut out for me because every single egg is muddy, courtesy of the hens’ mud-caked feet. The grass? Oh, it’s still out there somewhere—submerged under standing water that now rivals Lake Michigan. And the dog? Let’s just say “muddy” has become his default state. He’s happy, at least, but I’d give anything for one dry patch of ground where he doesn’t immediately turn into a four-legged mud magnet.

It’s hard not to feel fed up when everything around you is saturated, slick, and slightly squishy. The charm of the rain wore off weeks ago, and all I can think about now is the mold, the mess, and the mountain of chores that have become impossible to tackle under these conditions. Fence repairs? Forget it. Planting plans? On hold until we get more than 24 hours without a monsoon. Even the chickens’ usual antics have taken on a bedraggled air, like they’re as over it as I am.

And yet, in the midst of all this, there’s a tiny silver lining—though I wouldn’t blame you if you missed it under the looming gray clouds. The well is less likely to go dry anytime soon, so there’s that. It’s not much, but it’s enough to remind me that even the muddiest mess has a purpose. The grass will grow back when the water recedes, greener than ever thanks to all this free irrigation. The chickens, resilient as always, will fluff themselves up again and get back to scratching the moment the ground cooperates. And maybe, just maybe, the sun will make an appearance before we all forget what it looks like.

Until then, I’m keeping my boots handy, my patience on a short leash, and my eyes on the horizon. Because even if this feels like 40 days and 40 nights of rain, the end has to come eventually. Right?

How’s the weather treating you? Pull up a chair and let me know—misery loves company, after all. And if anyone’s got a line on waterproof chicken boots, let me know. I think we’re all going to need them.