Essay # 10 – In-Class Any Essay

Essay # 10 – In-Class Any Essay

Dirt

Dirt is everywhere!!  Here it is, springtime again, and the dirt spreads, magically extending its hidden tentacles to creep silently beneath my closed door, through the living room, and into every corner of the house.  Or so it seems…  How does all that dirt appear out of nowhere?  Is it really magic?  Or do alien beings watch my every move, wait until no one is home, then sneak in and sprinkle some sort of extraterrestrial dirt-dust all around my house?  (If so, I wonder if it has some sort of special properties.  Maybe I should try starting one of my garden plants in some of it as an experiment.)  But, for some reason, these unusual explanations seem too irrational to accept without some scientific testing.  So where does all this dirt come from?  Hmmm…..

As I said, it’s springtime, which here in Maine is synonymous with “Mud Season.”  Now, there may actually be a logical reason for such absurd terminology.  It could possibly be that someone, maybe from out-of-state, came driving here one fine spring day, maybe even having purchased some land from one of those realty ads, which was so unbelievably cheap, he couldn’t pass up such a good deal.  As this poor tourist-turned- property-owner traveled to his destination, roads changed from well-maintained interstate highways to reasonably-well-maintained state roads to minimally- maintained county roads to somewhat-maintained town roads to barely-maintained back roads to the inevitable unmaintained dirt roads, which in the springtime seem more akin to higher level swamps than “roads.”  As this poor wanderer continued on his journey toward his prize, he must have started to wonder what indeed he had gotten into.  Possibly he eventually reached his destination, turned into his driveway and sank up to the axle in that special mud, much like quicksand, which seeps out as the ground thaws when winter gasps its last breath and seeks one last vain attempt at vengeance before giving up the fight.  As the days turned into weeks and he struggled to keep his vehicle from being sucked in by more liquid road or from being devoured by ruts and potholes, while the local yokels cheerfully greeted each other with acclaims that “it’s finally springtime in Maine!”  He probably finally grumbled in reply something like, “Where I come from we have 4 real seasons: winter, summer, spring, and fall.  This season isn’t spring, it’s mud, nothing but mud…”  To which the stoic Mainers proudly replied, “You’re darn right!  We have our very own season here, Mud Season.  I knew we were special!”  This story may be a little far-fetched, but I’ve never heard a better one, so who knows?  Maybe it’s true…

So that’s our first explanation of where all that dirt in our homes comes from: the great outdoors.  But how does it all get inside?  This part is actually pretty easy to explain without magic or aliens, though no way near as exciting a hypothesis.  It seems my house is inhabited by dirt-tracking varmints, who choose to ignore a series of outdoor mats and rugs leading to the front door.  Some can be reasonably excused.  They have 4 feet apiece and don’t seem to have the agility to carefully wipe each individual paw before entering my domain.  In fact, they dispute the fact that it is my domain, mistakenly believing it to be their own, and they don’t mind the dirt at all.  In fact, it may even bring a little sense of comfort as the dirt increases to make it feel more like the great outdoors while indoors.  Those 4-footed family members include 2 dogs and 4 cats, who regularly go in and out all – day – long.  The quadrupeds may have an excuse, but the bipeds in the family do not.  While I do my best to enter my abode without the adornments of additional mineral matter adhering to my shoes, others in the family seem oblivious to their hitchhikers, allowing dirt free access to our private quarters.  Though I’ve done my motherly and wifely duty to alert the other family members to the impending avalanche of earth that will one day bury our family alive, never to be seen again, they somehow don’t believe in the scientific truth of that prediction.  And so, dirt continues to win the war.  I shovel it up; others bring more in.  As long as there is springtime and Mud Season in Maine, it is a fruitless task; and I wonder if it is truly insanity to continue doing the same thing while expecting different results.  And if it is, I’m in big trouble…

We’ve now discussed the dirt of Mud Season and how the dirt from outside gets inside, but do we ever purposefully bring in dirt?  Alas, the answer unfortunately is, “Yes.”  We Mainers are gluttons for punishment.  Not only do we choose to live in a place that seeks to envelop us and our vehicles each springtime, we also seem to cheerfully choose the absolute messiest manner of maintaining comfort in our own homes – wood heat.  Don’t get me wrong.  I love wood heat!  The price is right – free; and the luxury of spinning like a rotisserie chicken in front of a rip-roaring fire while the heat soaks in to the marrow of every bone is comfort to the extreme.  But every luxury demands its price, and wood heat brings with it not only the sawdust remaining from each chainsaw cut and endless chips of bark, but also the ash that floats into the air every time the door is opened (especially if you’re mentally challenged or leaning toward cognitive decline and keep forgetting to open the top damper!)  This byproduct of wood heat floats through every room eventually filtering down to leave its inevitable calling card.  So not only do we “accidentally” add to the dirt load in our homes, we also “purposefully” do the same thing.  (I’m beginning to lean toward that insanity theory.  Do you agree?)

So, that’s the story of dirt in Maine: Mud Season, foot traffic, and wood heat.  We’ve learned to live with it, and we don’t seem able to live without it, no matter how much we grumble and complain.  But maybe that’s not such a bad thing.  They’re now saying that the present trend toward spotless living is creating tendencies toward allergies, and that dirt “immunizes” children from future hypersensitivities.  So maybe that’s what I’ll tell my next set of visitors when I see that look of amazement followed by repulsion as they enter in my doorway one fine Mud Season morning.  I’m looking after the well-being of my family.  And if they like, they can do their own families a favor and scoop some up to bring some home with them, too.  After all, we Mainers like to share the bounty, and there’s plenty for everyone.