"According to a friend of mine who is with the US Geological Service, what causes and dictates Mud Season's debut and duration is the permafrost. The sun and warm air of spring thaw the ground above the permafrost and then it just sits there like soupy unbaked chocolate cake batter waiting until the frozen layer below it melts. Vermont's charming, unpaved roads become nightmares of almost unnavigable, axle-deep, sucking goo. Schools close, loggers play cards all day, and the Whitefork River, already deep and treacherous with snow melt, turns the color of cafe au lait."

--David Leitz, Casting in Dead Water

When I was being recruited for my current professional position, a lot was made over the fact that I was moving to Vermont from Far Away. Specifically, everyone seemed to be quite worried that I would be killed by a combination of winter and my own ignorance. "Have you ever experienced a Vermont winter?" "It gets really cold here--no, really cold. So cold. Are you sure you'll be okay?" And I'm here to tell you that I'm okay, and that winters in Vermont are really, really, really cold. But no one mentioned Mud Season.

Mud Season, aka Fifth Season. Because (and really it's very logical once you think it through) all that snow's gotta go somewhere. Almost everyone I've talked to about Mud Season so far agrees that I'm in no danger (what? You Vermonters are so wacky) seeing as how I live "in-town".

Historically, I've been very pro-winter and anti-spring. Living at the arse-end of the universe (Davis CA for the GPS-enabled among you), winter simply meant an end to the 110 F degree temperatures. Who wouldn't love winter at that point? And then spring heralded the return of Hell (boo). There's more to it than that---I love the snap of cold air, golden living room lights against overcast night skies, etc, but living in Davis is where I'd tell the analyst to start. This year though, I seem to be making peace with spring.

Yes I know. It's the second making-peace entry in a row. Perhaps I am mellowing, or becoming nice and sweet and social and perhaps I turn 30 this year. Before we all bug our eyes and make a weird, ululating growl (Mom we're all looking at you) at that statement, let me state unequivocally: I'm okay leaving behind my 20s. And then I watch another episode of Real World/Road Rules Inferno Challenge and I'm even more okay with it. I'd really like to leave the drama to those among us who can work Princess Leia buns with peppermint stripe tanktops. Also, after having seen last week's episode, I'd like to leave them the spiky-haired gym rats who kiss their own biceps and reveal that said muscles have pet names. Mazel Tov, kids.

Where was I going with all this? Where am I?

(Wouldn't it be great if I was one of those polished non-fiction writers who draw you into lean, well-crafted vignettes that start off being about the hamster on the television and missing car keys, but then when you get to the end, you realize it was all a deconstruction of German realpolitik in the late 90s. Those people rock.)

But Mud Season. (Ah ha! That's where I was going.) Mud Season is coming, and with it, talk once again of Vermont seceding from the United States. The Yojito got an IM tonight from a friend of his in CA asking what the hell the deal was with Killington. Like there's an isolated pocket of secessionist weirdness in an otherwise sane state. Uh, no. It's pretty much weirdos all the way round and people who want to move. That might be a lot like the rest of life: you wander round feeling like a green antenna'ed freak, all the way out on the freak tip, and you call your sister to cry about how you're the entire population of Weirdonia, and she's just as far out there. She's just out there in a slightly different way. And this pattern happens over and over again, phone call after phone call until Verizon comes to repossess your car and you realize we're all deeply deeply weird people in our own special ways.

I have the attention span of an eggplant. So Mud Season. And secession.

I love the fact that Killington VT or, as I will now be referring to them, Newmontshire, is smack in the middle of our fine state, but now demanding to be considered part of the state next door. Those people are flying their freak flags. I can see 'em from here. I blame Mud Season myself. Something about being cooped up indoors all winter and then once you can get out the door, you sink to the tits in mud. Bummer. I'm wondering, though, do they think being Newmontshire will somehow dry their mud faster? Because if so, we need to dispatch a soil scientist, and fast.

If not, if they're doing it for completely legitimate reasons, this sets all kinds of exciting precedents. For instance, did you know I just voted for my house to secede from Vermont and become part of Wyoming? I'll just bet you didn't. And as part of Wyoming, I just voted to annex my sister's house, and Havenside, and half of Marn's house. But only half.

(Here is where I am tempted to follow this thought down the rabbit hole to where the coffee wants to take me: having parts of the 18th century secede from the flow of time and join the 13th century, having my ass secede from the rest of my body and join pretty much anything else in the universe, etc etc asscakes. But luckily I can tell this is the coffee talking. Must focus.)

Is any of this entry about Spring or Mud Season? Any at all? Man, I give up.

Vermont Vocabulary:

Mud Season: Vermont's Fifth Season.

Vermont eel: lamprey, a type of fish, which is apparently popular to eat here, although I have not heard of anyone elsewhere trying to do so. Almost in season.