That’s My Muddy Girl

We hear cautionary tales about the restrictions on play and dirt and freedom.

Of warnings about nature deficit disorder and the lack of consequences.

As if those things were all relics from the past.

Fossils.

Little girls are inundated with the princess industrial complex.

And pink is the only color in which you can buy their shoes.

The only one.

This world is very different from how I grew up.

I spent hours exploring the undergrowth of my backyard.

And the field near my house.

I fished for crawdads, using lunch meat.

I climbed a tree before my dance recital.

In the costume.

Don’t get me wrong—I like pink.

It’s a great color.

But not the only one.

That—in all her glory—is my muddy girl.