Olivia's story about the Corsicana mud trip

What started out as a long vacation to our family farm in East Texas became even longer when it started raining, and for me vacations and mud do not mix. The picturesque little farm in Corsicana is the best place to be if the weather is great, and our first night ended perfectly with a roaring bonfire under millions of stars. The next morning we were expecting the same perfect weather like we had the day before, but instead awoke to a gloomy day with a forecast threatening much rain. We tried to ignore the ominous clouds, and went about our usual farm day mowing pastures and sitting on the porch enjoying the breeze. That lasted until noon when it started raining. Forced inside our tiny farmhouse, there was little to do except read. I only like to be at the farm when the weather is excellent because there is no cable, no internet, which means there is nothing to do but stare at the family. I have lived with these people eighteen years; I know what they look like. After suffering through the first day that dragged on forever, we went to bed hoping the next morning would bring sunshine, but with it came driving rain. It took about five minutes for cabin fever to set in and our cramped quarters quickly turned moods to surly and unpleasant. Contempt could be felt in the air, and anything that could be argued about was. Food was consumed, Spanish soap operas were watched, and grade school bedtime set in with snores commencing by eight o’clock.

On the second morning we awoke to an overcast sky but no rain. The family’s mood improved slightly as we went about our farm fun activities like shooting targets and riding the lawn mower. We were trying to pack in as much fun as we could because the forecast was not looking good. As we feared, the rain free morning soon became a flood filled afternoon. After much discussion about gopher wood and arks was tabled, the majority agreed no boats were needed, yet. But in an attempt to change the scenery and quiet the grumbling, my mom, two sisters and I went to town antiquing. It was more like four people trudging through a torrential downpour searching for rusty, old, overpriced, crap and while the seconds ticked by, the mood became more sullen. We drove back to the farm in the pouring, driving, sheets of rain that pummeled the countryside. By then all hope was lost and my parents began talking about leaving early. I was against the idea immediately, but my siblings jumped on the bandwagon and I was outnumbered. With a short break in the rain, the opportunity to pack the car presented itself and suitcases began flying in all directions. I made sure I packed my bad attitude. But, a fateful or some might say dim-witted decision to pull the car into the grass would soon prove to be unforgettable. Within thirty minutes we were in the car and ready to take off...or so we thought. Dad fired up the engine, put the car in drive, but it did not budge. In a panic, he exclaimed, “We’re sinking!” He hit the gas harder. The only audible sound was spinning tires in black Texas mud. After several more vain attempts of punching the gas over and over, Dad finally got out of the car to assess the situation. The situation was, we were stuck and we were stuck badly. Luckily two tires were on concrete and the other two were stuck. We then all got out of the car thinking and hoping that with less weight, the car would move. But we had no such luck. My parents were stunned, annoyed, and starting to turn on each other. I was silent, pleased, and vindicated because I had not wanted to leave early. But there was little satisfaction in my vindication because I was stuck too.

My dad tried to call a tow truck but it was deemed too expensive, and so we called a family friend who lived out in the country for help. By the time “Cousin Alvin” arrived, getting home early had become a thing of the past. It was now seven thirty in the evening and with one look Cousin Alvin decided his truck was too small to pull the large, green, suburban out of the mud. He then informed my parents he would have to drive to his house to get a bigger truck to pull our car out of the rain soaked yard. But because so much rain had fallen, the bridges were impassable and therefore he would have to go the “back way” which was at least 10 miles farther. My parents were incredulous but he left, we sat, and I was satisfied.

At least an hour passed before we saw Alvin again and by then it was almost 8:30 and Monroe was very far from us. Well after some looking and pointing and country boy thinking, Alvin chained his truck to our lodged car and tried to pull it free. But it did not budge. Alvin got out and thought some more and what he thought was, this is not going to work. It was apparent he was ready to give up but my dad, nearing epic levels of panic, practically threw himself at Alvin’s feet and begged him to try just one more time. Alvin must have felt pity for Dad because he agreed and my dad quickly began positioning his loved ones behind the car as advantageously as possible for brute human strength to prevail. And then he urged Alvin to give it lots of gas.

With my sister Emma in the driver’s seat, my sister Caitlin, my mom, my brother Owen and dad and I pushing, once again we tried to free the car. But once again we were defeated by the mud. Finally after one more strategy session, Dad placed Caitlin and Owen directly behind the stuck tires and my mom and I on the “clean” side and with the force of the truck and all of our human will joined as one, we tried one final time. The tires started spinning, the car started moving and Caitlin and Owen were right in firing range of mud flying high. This time the car moved out of the mud quickly and as it did, our focus turned to Caitlin and Owen who were now covered in dark, thick black mud from head to toe. And although my dad was thrilled, they were not happy at all. And then we noticed that even though the house was 30 feet from the car, the back porch and house were covered in mud as well. Who knew mud traveled so fast? Faces went from shock and awe to uncontrollable laughter. We assessed the gaping holes left in the yard which had to be filled with dirt, sprayed off the house and porch, allowed the mud monsters to shower and then we piled into the car to head home “early.” By that time, which was ten thirty, even I was ready to be home. The ride to Monroe was uneventful although clunks of mud could be heard bouncing out from underneath the car the entire trip. Thankfully we arrived home safely at two o’clock in the morning. My parents’ plans of getting home early had clearly backfired. Even though I had full gloating rights, I never said anything about the fact that I thought we should have stayed for the rest of the trip. But I was obviously right. Sometimes you just cannot teach parents anything.