It was a dark morning. The sun was still down, but a soft glow appeared over the eastern mountains. It looked like sunset, but it was just the opposite. The sun would be up soon. Maybe it would drive some of the clouds away. There was a slight breeze from the north, the yellow leaves on the aspen trees were fluttering toward the south a bit. The warm mornings and the sweltering days of Summer were gone. Fall snuck in. Thankfully.
Looking out the kitchen window of the farm house, he decided his flannel shirt might not be warm enough this morning so he pulled on his old, well worn denim jacket. Some smudges of dried mud flaked off the jacket and fell to the floor at his feet. He kicked the crumbled mud under the bench by the door. Not going to pick it up this morning. It'll all get swept up later. He wondered what his wife would think.
No matter. For now the mud was staying. He was standing in a small room just off of the kitchen. "That's why it's called a mud room," he muttered out loud and smiled to himself. He swung open the door and stepped outside onto the side porch and onto a well used doormat. He kicked at it, putting it in place. Semi-dried chunks of mud bounced off the door and his boots and into the mud room. More mud. He was going to have to get the broom and sweep it up. Later.
"Come on Belle," he hollered over his shoulder. The border collie came running, bounded through the door and leaped off the deck. Zac loved the loyalty and exuberance of border collies. Belle was the third border collie he'd owned over the years. He had named all of his dogs, Belle. His mom named the first collie, Belle many years ago. A big, black border collie he grew up with and loved. So, Zac kept naming his dogs, Belle.
He stepped off the porch and a single raindrop bounced off the bill of his Wyoming Cowboy's ball cap. The well worn cap had seen plenty of rain. Usually, Zac enjoyed the rain. Rain was a bonus, a necessary part of farming. But it had rained yesterday and the day before, and the day before, and late October rain usually meant a couple of things, first plenty of mud. Second, possibly the prelude to a long, cold, drawn out winter. It would never get warm enough to dry out the mud before the snow arrived. And Wyoming got a lot of snow.
He missed his wife more than he thought he would. He missed the morning pancakes she usually had ready for him. He missed her smile when she gave him instructions on what to do and what not to do. Everything felt dreary.
He looked up. The clouds seemed to be dispersing. Another drop of rain hit him on the chin. He glanced at his watch, 7:10 am. Belle was looking at him waiting for something to do. "What're you lookin' at? Brenda won't be here for seven or eight hours, he explained. We'll be done and have supper ready by then." Belle looked at him with one gray eye and one brown eye, cocked her head. "Never mind, Zac smiled. Let's get on with it."
The sun was up over the horizon now, it was brighter and maybe a degree or two warmer. Zac thought he could actually feel a little bit of warmth on his back. The somewhat muddy road started at the barn and headed west to the pumpkin field. Not many pumpkins were left, maybe a pickup truck load. This group of pumpkins had been planted late so they were harvested about two weeks later than the primary harvest.
The worn road that led to the patch was lined with beautiful, Red Maple trees. The leaves of the old trees changed from yellow to orange and then red every year. Most of the leaves were down now, forming a beautiful orangish-red carpet he and Belle were walking on. "Belle, it’s probably gonna stay too wet and muddy to rake these up. We might as well wait until Spring."
The road opened up to a small field, mostly empty except for dead vines and wilted leaves. The old 1949 Ford pickup was down at the far end waiting to be filled with the last pumpkins. A couple of cold drops of rain hit Zac on the back of the neck. The morning sky became dark again. "Rain's coming Belle. We'd better hurry." They started for the truck leaving the red leaf covered driveway behind. Zac could feel the rain picking up, pelting him on the back and bouncing off his cap. The truck was still thirty yards or so away but he could see rain drops bouncing off the windshield. "We're gonna get soaked Belle. Maybe we should put this off a day. Cut the pumpkins in the mud tomorrow." He looked down at her. Belle didn't care. She trudged along, she was always wherever Zac was. "Okay, then, he chuckled. We'll pick in the rain."
They walked on towards the lower field and the truck. The rain was cold and soaking his jacket through. The mud was building. It was thick and slippery and it was becoming harder to walk. They came to the top of a slight rise on the outside edge of the field. Zac was having a hard time seeing through the rain but he didn't think he could see any pumpkins. He picked up the pace, boots sloshing in the rain and mud. Finally arriving at the small field, he experienced a stark realization. "They're gone Belle. Why steal a small field of pumpkins? I never saw anyone back here." He walked on toward the empty pumpkin patch, the rain was persistent and now, annoying. So was the mud. It stuck to his boots in huge clumps weighing him down.
The old green Ford looked shiny when it was wet. "We'll get out of this downpour soon, Belle. Run the heater, warm up and drive this old clunker back to the house." Zac paused, put his hand on the hood of the truck. The field was empty. Just stems and leaves. Someone had taken the pumpkins. He shook his head, "Well Belle, somebody needed them worse than us I guess." Belle looked at him, cocked her head again almost like she knew what he said. "Let's get in." Zac dug the key out of his pocket and walked to the driver side door and stopped suddenly. He froze in place like something was wrong. What he saw didn't register at first. It took him by surprise.
The back of the old truck was filled with shiny orange pumpkins. Someone had cut them for him and loaded the truck. He was stunned. He stood there in the rain and mud for another minute and wondered. Finally, he smiled, "Huh. Get in Belle before you're soaked to the bone." He opened the door, knocked mud off his boots and he and Belle climbed in. "Now, who do we have to thank for that?" The Ford's starter ground away for a few seconds and then it caught. Sounded just like a very old 1949 Ford six cylinder. He turned the heater to high, eased the clutch out and started down the side of the field toward the maple tree lined driveway and the farm house, the back tires slipping in the mud.
The windshield wipers barely worked on the old truck, but they worked good enough. Zac turned down the driveway onto the carpet of wet, red maple leaves. He drove past the last set of trees and made the slight right turn toward the house on the muddy drive, creating another set of deep ruts in the road that would have to be smoothed out in the Spring. It was about 9:00 am. Still early. And, besides being wet and muddy, he had a pickup truck full of late pumpkins. "Guess I'll stop and change clothes before we take these pumpkins to the Co-op,” he said out loud.
He parked the truck next to the porch on the mud room side of the house. It was overcast and dark enough he noticed the kitchen light was on. "We leave that on?" He looked at Belle, shook his head and shrugged.
"The mud room is going to serve its purpose today." They got out of the truck leaving mud on the floorboard, clutch, brake and gas pedals and they stepped into even more mud as they slogged their way to the porch. As Zac reached for the door knob, Belle let out a shrill, ear piercing bark. Someone was standing in the mud room.
Zac jumped, startled. Then he realized who was standing there watching them. "Brenda! You're home!"
"Would you rather I was still in Cheyenne?" Brenda smiled and opened the door. "Boots off outside. I'll get a towel for your helper and a broom so you can sweep this dried mud out the mud room. By the way, I made breakfast."
Twenty minutes later he was changed and sitting at the kitchen table getting ready to have pancakes and sausages. The rain had stopped and the sun was trying its best to shine again. From where he sat in the kitchen he could see the front of the pickup. It had mostly dried and it wasn't as green or as shiny now. But, it still had bright orange pumpkins in back. "Zac, you must have gotten most of the pumpkins up yesterday. You weren't down there very long," Brenda said.
Zac took a sip of thick, hot coffee, "Well, that's a mystery. The field was empty and the truck was full when we got there. Someone must have cut them last evening when I was in town buying groceries. I guess. I can't think of anything else. Don't know who did it. I'd like to return the favor someday, though."
"You help a lot of people, Zac. Maybe someone was repaying you."
"Maybe. Still, it was nice of them. Good timing too. Are you coming with us to drop off the pumpkins at the Co-op?"
"Yup," Brenda answered. "Besides, I need to stop at the market for bittersweet chocolate, cinnamon and condensed milk."
"Why? We're going to have something special?"
"We are. The harvest is over, and the barn is paid off."
"Well, if it has chocolate I know I'll like it. If you make it, I know I'll like it. So, what is it you're making?," Zac prodded with a big smile.
"Mud Slide Pie."
Zac smiled even bigger. Mud. The good kind.