My hero!

The persistent rainfall of the past few days has turned the paths into mud and sludge routes, so my task often consists of squealing anxiously when the driver once again wants to steer into obvious mud paths.

It's lunchtime and there is nowhere in sight for a cozy nap. Instead, there is the next thunderstorm with dark, threatening cloud towers.

It should be noted at this point that it is a standard on our travels to get stuck at least once in the thieves' den. This can be mud, sludge, sand, slippery grassy fields, or whatever other options are available. At least once, on every tour...

For today's coffee break, there is only a place by the road. A gigantic haystack turns it into an idyll.

We are already parked and I am about to get out when the hero shifts into gear again and I can only quickly ask why he is driving into the mud now. His plan is to stay behind the bales for protection from the wind. But we are already stuck. The wheels spin and puddle water splashes up in fountains, accompanied by mud, spraying meters high and sticking to the car.

It starts raining.

No, I'm not getting out, I'm being stubborn. I would immediately sink up to my ankles in soft clay and moisture. The hero takes care of the problem on his own.

Meanwhile, the tires have dug deep grooves into the ground and I have a hopeless situation in front of me, in which we will endure until the next dry period drains our spot.

In the meantime, the hero digs in the swamp, gets back in the car completely covered in dirt, and lets the wheels sink even deeper.

The hero gets out again. I can see that he has an idea: he gathers straw residues lying around and pushes them under the tires. I could help him, but I'm desperate and don't want to get dirty in case we can't find any water to wash here in the next few weeks.

The hero repeats the procedure, trying again and again to circulate the vehicle out of the deepening rut. Mud, schlock, and litter swirl through the air, and the car sinks a bit further.

I remain in resignation, anxiety, hopelessness, dejection, and keep my eyes closed with no strength or courage.

Actually, I should know that the hero has saved us from almost every hole so far.

With dirty straw, creativity, delicate footwork, and a lot of flying sludge, the thieves' den rushes onto solid ground in a wonderful moment after what feels like eternity and leaves deep tracks in the mud.

The hero is covered from head to toe in gray-brown stuff, grinning and scolding that I didn't get out to film the masterpiece live and in color.

Meanwhile, the rain is pouring again and thunder is rumbling, but everything is fine again. And the hero is always right...