Mud Slinging

“Jonah, where are we?” I asked.

“I’m not quite sure,” he replied.

It was the fourth of July and we were hiking Ledges State Park twenty miles from our house. We walked among the sandstone cliffs rising 100 feet above the floor of a streambed within the Des Moines River Valley. Thirteen miles of trails lead up and down steep slopes to overlooks. We’d forgone the traditional trails and followed the stream bed next to Pea’s Creek’s shrunken trickle.

“Do you think this is smart?” I asked hopping over a dribble heading to Des Moines.

“Don’t you trust me?” he said checking a compass against the topo map. “I am an Eagle Scout.”

“Okay, where do we go?”

“I think we should just follow the creek.”

“I think?”

“Come on, where’s your sense of adventure?”

“I left it back at the car,” I said pointing behind me. “About three miles back.”

Jonah smiled, ruffling his charcoal locks, causing his cowlick to stand up like a disgruntled rooster. “Let’s just keep going.”

“Alright, lead the way.”

“I prefer to walk behind you,” he said slapping my ass.

“Very funny,” I said taking the lead.

We continued trudging. The mud increased exponentially. My sandaled feet slopped and slogged through the mosquito breeding ground. My U2 tee and khaki shorts were no competition for the swarms. There was nary an inch on my body without a red welt.

“My mom wants us to stop over tonight and watch the fireworks,” Jonah said.

“Are we going?” I asked.

“I’d like to stop by.”

“Will your dad be there?” I asked. We’d crossed from deciduous forest into the flatlands of a cornfield leaving the park borders. We continued to follow the stream although it was now just a shallow ravine of irrigation run-off.

“Is he ever?” Jonah asked.


“Your dad hates me!” I said turning to face him. We were deep in a cornfield, locusts singing in the stagnant heat. The tree line of the park was no longer visible; nothing was visible but cornstalks and a dwindling gulch.

“And your parents hate me,” he yelled quieting the locusts. “What’s your point?”

“I’m not going,” I said looking around for any sign of a house or road. “I can’t face him again.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” I said hiking again. “It’s nothing,”

“You’re lying to me,” he said grabbing my hand spinning me around. I stumbled, broke a sandal strap and fell into the muddy creek. My left side was covered with black sludge.

“So fucking what,” I said flopping around in the mud. “You’re lying to yourself.”

“What?” he asked.

“Your father hates you too.”

Jonah turned from me and started plucking leaves off a nearby stalk.

“Why else would he deny you? Why would he push you out of his life? Why does your mom have to sneak around you?”

“Enough,” he said turning back to me. “I can’t help it. There’s nothing I can do.”

I stood up, wiped mud splatters off my face, and attended to my broken sandal. One of the straps pulled away from the foot bed. There was no hope of reattachment.

“Are you okay?” he asked reaching out to wipe muck off my arm. I pulled away. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Well, Mr. Eagle Scout, got any duct tape on ya?” I asked indicating his back pack.

Jonah looked at me for a moment before guffawing like a hillbilly cartoon character.

“What are you laughing at?” I screamed.

He continued laughing like a buffoon. Fury rose hot in my cheeks. I grabbed a handful of mud and slug it at him. His eyes were closed, the mud hit him mid-chest. Startled, he slipped and fell in the mud beside me, spraying me further. He was crying with delight.

“What’s so funny?” I asked beginning to giggle.

“Look at us!”

“Yeah. We’re lost and covered in mud.”

“Exactly,” Jonah said. “We’re both irritated but the only thing we have to fight about is our parents.”

“And?”

“I think it’s ridiculous that while fighting about their petty arguments we sound just like them.”

“You’re a real shit. Ya know that?”

“Yes, but I’m your favourite shit, aren’t I?”

“I guess so.”

“You guess?” He asked tossing mud at me. “You’re my wife, I’d better be your favorite.”

“Since I have no choice,” I said leaning into to kiss him. With lips-locked, I scooped up some more mud and slathered it across his cheek. His lips turned up in a smile, then pulled away mid-giggle. He flung more muck at me. It degenerated into a mud war.

“Stop! I hear something,” I said.

“What is it?”

“Singing.”

“I don’t hear anything,” he said dropping the wad of muck in his hand.

“Amazing Grace,” I whispered. “Come on, we must be close to a house or something.” I helped Jonah to his feet and we followed the creek. The singing got clearer and louder as we walked.

“I wonder where it’s coming from,” he said as there was a pause in the music between songs then laughter.

We climbed up a long hill to a break in the corn. A small house about a quarter mile away seemed to shimmer in the heat and shake with the band.

“This is surreal,” he said grasping my hand.

“Yeah.”

“We were lost and fighting only to be saved by Amazing Grace.”

“Seen any doves lately?”

“I think we’re about to,” he said staring at the house. “You okay to walk in those?”

My sandals were sodden in mud with broken straps. “I’ll be okay.”

We stood on the steps waiting for a song break. Jonah knocked. A grandmotherly woman answered the door in a flag tee-shirt, flag earrings, plus stars and bars Chuck Taylors. “Oh my goodness, are you alright?”

“We got lost and then found some mud,” Jonah said. “Could you give us a ride back to our car?”

“Yes, of course. Please come in,” she said opening the screen door wider.

I could only imagine how we looked: sweaty, sun burnt, eaten alive by bugs, covered in mud, and exhausted. We entered the dark, cool house and were greeted by a full bluegrass band: banjo, 2 acoustic guitarists, drummers, and a host of singers. Every one of them smiled as we entered.

“These two got lost hiking in Ledges,” Grandma announced.

“Hi, I’m Jonah and this is my wife, Brigid,” Jonah said wrapping his arm around my waist.

“I’m Betsy and this is my husband Clyde,” Grandma said indicating the banjo player.

“Come on in and join us. We were going to play a few more and have dessert,” Clyde said. “Ya’ll love the Lord, don’t ya?”

“Yes sir, we’re Catholic,” Jonah whispered the Catholic part. He’d grown up in Boone amongst fundamentalist Christians who learned fire, brimstone, and that all Catholics were going to hell because we supposedly worshiped statues and prayed to Mary, not God.

“Son, we don’t care what house you go to as long as you believe. I’m Al and that’s my wife Melita,” the drummer said indicating a pretty singer.

Jonah sat on the floor in the middle of the band. He looked like a little kid at the state fair: giddy with excitement, bouncing, and grinning.

“What’s your favourite hymn?” asked the tambourine player.

“Amazing Grace, we heard it as we were walking up. You just played it,” Jonah answered.

“Excuse me, Betsy,” I said pulling her aside. “May I use your restroom to clean up?”
“Certainly dear, there’s washcloths and towels behind the door. Help yourself.”
I said thank you and excused myself. I was able to clean most of the mud off my skin and sandals; however my clothes were ruined. My favourite U2 shirt destroyed, Bono looked like he was wearing black face paint. When I walked out of the bathroom, Jonah was shaking his ass and a tambourine, singing “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.”

“Would you like some ice cream?” she asked handing me a scoop and bowl.

“Yes, thank you,” I said and scooped the homemade ice cream out of a metal canister straight from the churner. Betsy spooned strawberries on top.

I took my bowl and found a corner near the entryway to sit. Jonah sang loud with his eyes closed and head tilted to the ceiling. The band came to a rest, leaving Jonah luminous and beaming.

“Can I have a bite?” Jonah asked sitting down next to me. I handed him the spoon, he ladled a dripping spoonful, and jammed it into my mouth smearing my lips with cream. He followed with his lips sucking the sugar off mine.

“How long ya’ll been married?” Clyde asked mid-kiss.

“A month,” Jonah answered pulling away from me.

“Wow, newlyweds,” a woman said putting down her guitar in search of her own bowl of sugar.

“How did you meet?” Betsy asked passing out bowls to the rest of the band.

“Summer camp in ’92,” Jonah said.

“And you’ve dating since?” Melita asked.

“Nope, she was resistant to my charms at first. But I wore her down.”

“Sounds like me and Betsy,” Clyde said.

“I may’ve been resistant, but I’ve always loved you,” I said jamming the spoon into Jonah’s mouth.

“Seems you’ve both been blessed,” Clyde said. Every head around the room nodded in approval.

We sat in ice-cream-bliss silence for awhile. It felt like Jonah and I were a normal couple laughing and having a good time with strangers. The shadow of death had lifted and we could bask in life.

“Al and Melita will take you back to your car,” Betsy said.