Tuesday, December 04, 2007


I was a filthy child.

Though my Mom very fond of cleanliness and has an ongoing unrequited romance with an Electrolux vacuum, she couldn't stop me or my little sister from coming into her house covered in all manner questionable substances.

I'm unaware of any brain damage I may have caused myself. I am not a doctor.

As I've mentioned before, I grew up on a horse farm. That alone presents opportunities for filth that other locations don't. When you live on a horse farm there is horse poop, and when there is horse poop there is an opportunity to shovel that poop daily. Everything in it's place and so the horse poop was dumped out of the wheelbarrow into a huge pile at the back of the paddock area.

This, logically, makes me:


It's best to not play king of the hill, on the manure pile, in the dead heat of summer. I'll let you think that one out for yourselves. My sister and I had simple rules for the game. You had to sit on your bottom, you could move your legs and arms, and even pull hair, but your butt had to stay put. Victory was in throwing your sister off and have her tumbling to the bottom with at least three dried horse apples clinging in her hair.

In addition to the manure in the backyard, we had a running irrigation ditch in the front yard. At most it was a foot deep and perfectly fine to play in all summer. You're right in thinking that it was a never-ending source of mud. We built houses for our Barbies out of mud. We built houses for the feral farmcats out of mud. We built houses for the toads found in our window wells out of mud. The toads were the only new house owners to ever pee on us. They just don't appreciate fine architechture. There were mud pies and cookies and cakes. Occasionally it was mixed with the manure and slung.

The neighboring farm was home to cows, pigs and chickens. Cow manure doesn't pile up well so at least we left that alone. The chickens on the other hand, they not only left free range poop all over but free range eggs too. Either was excellent for picking up and throwing at your unsuspecting playmates. Typically the eggs were unfertilized and you became thankful if you were hit with a fresh one. What was better was to find a nest of eggs that had ripened somewhat. In addition to the surprise of odor, the splash of green contents was always exciting.

No wonder my Mom never let me wear better looking clothing outside to play. More often than not she stuck me in the green polyester hand me down bell bottoms my older sister had worn. Green the same shade as those ripe eggs. When they became too short as pants, they were cut off. The butt parts were still good.

There were times when we were clean. Mom kept us combed up for school and she never let us run around with crusty noses. We learned what it meant to use the hose. Hair washing with cold hose water is not pleasant. But hey, my playmate nextdoor, she had good aim.

My kids need to play in more mud.


  1. I have the oddest image of Barbie in a pink gossamer dress with gold lame trim, and white plastic heels, and her pretty plastic purse, blonde hair ... and just a wee bit of shit hanging on her heel .....

    I shovelled manure for many a year. We shovelled out the stalls onto a flatbed that two horses then pulled over to another area. Then we shovelled the manure off that and onto a pile. Oddly enough, I never minded. I adored the horses and this was just part and parcel of owning one. And I never found the smell particularly unpleasant. Urine was another story, particularly if they let go while you were shovelling behind them right when they did it. That stream SPRAYS, man .... yuck.

  2. All kids should play in more mud.

  3. It sounds like your childhood was pretty good for preparing you to raise three boys. Do you find them much different from you and your girl friends, especially at the younger ages?

    I am enjoying not having to copy those d**n graphic letters that never seem to work on the first try. It will be interesting to see if you start getting automated comments left here.

  4. Sounds like you were a freakin' handful Becky.

    My son, I shit you not, came home one day a few years ago, covered from head to toe in mud....with only one shoe on.

    What a mess.

  5. Jill the fav sis12/06/2007 11:19 AM

    I was telling my hubby just last night that if you didn't clean out the poop every day from the stalls that the maggots make a nice crunching sound. His reply that they make a nice crunching sound when you eat them, too.

    By the way, I was the king of the hill!!!! You were just a wimpy little girl!

  6. I kicked your poopstained ass and you know it!

  7. One of my best guy friends came home one day (he was about 14 or 15) covered from head to toe in mud. It was the middle of December (in Indiana) and his dad grabbed the garden hose and sprayed him off in the front yard for the whole neighborhood to see. It was the funniest thing that you would ever want to see, especially when he screamed like a girl because the water was freezing cold. (There was snow on the ground)


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