Stuck in the mud

The eggs are the first sign of spring creeping around the corner. The second and less pleasant sign of creeping spring…the mud.

There's mud everywhere. It freezes, it snows, it thaws, and my driveway and yard get deeper and deeper. The driveway is now impassable to all but the most determined souls with four-wheel-drive. I've been ferrying visitors through the muddy ruts while leaving their wholly inadequate cars parked safely at the bottom of the driveway.
 
It honestly didn't bother me a bit, until I realized I can't get deliveries. While I was ordering copies of my book from my publisher to sell at events, he offered to have the package sent to my house for my convenience. It was then that I realized there is no way a delivery man is going to make it to my door. I had to ask my publisher to accept my order at the office and let me pick it up there. The books should arrive just in time for my official release date. 
 
The rest of it is just a series of little annoyances. I have to carry my shoes, or arrive everywhere is my muck boots. Stylish with dress clothes I assure you. When I feed the chickens, I watch them churn all their feed under the mud.  We'll get a bumper crop of everything they are planting out there this winter.  Not to mention, the stubborn refusal of my dogs to wipe their feet at the door.
 
It may sound like I'm complaining, but really I'm not. My driveway has character, and a current built-in-guarantee that guests need to call ahead. It's just a part of the charm of country life. I would take my muddy ruts over a paved driveway in town any day.