By Clayton Daniels I live in what some may call isolation.  Quiet and far from anywhere, it helps keep me sane.  There’s a long, winding road that leads there, which can test a person’s patience every now and then.  For the most part, it isn’t too bad, but when spring comes, the road begins to thaw—although not all at once, which is both a blessing and a curse. It’s all fine until the ground starts to get soft. Once that happens, all bets are off.  Low spots through the swamps fill with water, and the uphill sections get slimy.  It snows some, rains some, then snows some more.  Fifty-yard-long puddles freeze overnight, get broken up, then freeze again into miniature Arctic landscapes, wreaking havoc…