You poke it in the eye with a stick.

What were you expecting?

Sorry, I couldn’t resist.

It’s that time of year again.  There’s a little cool snap in the air, a little less humidity, and it’s time to either freshen up or build your duck blind.  Some of you might recall our duck hunting adventures from last year–Termite was learning the ropes!

This year he wanted to make his own blind rather than use a “boat blind” like we did last year.  He had his spot chosen from last year and knew just what he wanted to do, which was prepare a blind he could drive his boat into and hunt from rather than have to disembark and unload all his gear.

The idea sounded good, and it only took him a couple days to talk me into helping him out.  Turns out, I didn’t have a tour Saturday, so I really had no excuse not to help him.  I mean, my boat was still in the water, and we could launch his little boat easily enough.  So, we picked up his buddy and off we went to find the raw materials.

Lest you think these are just noxious roadside  weeds, let me set your straight.  These cane we call roseau (rozo) are phragmites, or common reed.  There’s a gold mine here for any industrious teens who don’t mind a little hard work, blisters, and sore muscles.  Currently, they sell for $10 a bundle of 100.

My older sons, who had each other for help and encouragement, cut roseau cane by the hundreds for a few years in a row when they were teens.  Back then, the price was only $5 a bundle, but one October, they made about $1600 cutting and selling roseau cane to hunters to build their duck blinds.  Believe me–they earned every penny.

But I digress. We’re talking about Termite now–the baby of the family and an entirely different breed of kid.  Okay, he’s spoiled, but I’m not the only one who has contributed to that debilitating condition.

Termite and K-Dog set to work right away with their cane knives, while I sat nearby in the truck reading.  Yes, you heard me correctly.  I decided to just relax for a change!  (Photo blurry = operator error!)

Once they had three bundles, they loaded them into the back of the pickup.

Back at Camp Dularge, they took them from my truck and loaded them into my boat.  After we launched Termite’s small boat, K-Dog rode with me and the roseau . . .while Termite decided to play chicken with this guy.  PLEASE watch where you’re going, son.

After about a ten-minute boat ride, we were outside our entrance.  The boys used their noodles and decided that putting the bundles on this earthen dam would be the best way to get the roseau onto the lease, since my big boat can’t fit through the gate.

I saw you squinting, trying to read those signs.  I made it easy for you!  Pay no attention to those signs.  We don’t!  All kidding aside, that sign does not apply to us because we pay (along with a dozen other folks) to hunt this section.  Hopefully, the signs keep the poachers out.

And then they headed through the gate, while I waited in my boat timing them to see how long it would take them to . . .

go around through the hunting lease and back to the other side of this earthen dam (ten minutes) . . .

where they then loaded the bundles into the small boat.

And off they go.  Two boys and three bundles of roseau cane, heading out into the marshy wilderness to create a place from which Termite will ambush waterfowl in the days to come.

Like any good mom, I issued all the usual cautions:

“Don’t fall overboard.  K-Dog, don’t drop your cell phone in the water.  Call me if you need me.  Don’t cut your hand off with that cane knife.  Watch out for snakes.  Don’t go riding all over the lease.”

I thought I might go cruise around for a bit and look for fishy water or photo ops; but the beauty of the day and the need to relax won out.  I tied up to a tree, stabbed the Cajun anchor, and pulled out a book.  After that, I lay down and closed my eyes.

And before I could finish my day-dream, they were finished.  K-Dog got in the boat with me, and we headed back in.

“Come on, Mom, let’s race!”

No fair!  How can I race you and take pictures?  Truth is, that little 9.9 HP engine outran my 75 HP!  Does that surprise you?

I’m sorry I don’t have a photo of the blind.  That will come at a later date when I’ve had a chance to go out there in the small boat with him.

After we returned to the camp, it was time to play musical boats at Camp Dularge.  We took his boat out of the water and parked it at the camp.  Then we  hooked up to my trailer and took my boat out of the water and parked it at the camp.  And the mudboat had to be jockeyed around to make room for these two boats.  Let’s just say, I got my exercise jumping in and out of the truck hooking up to and unhooking from boat trailers!

You know, it turned out to be a beautiful day, even though I thought I was going to town and meet up with Dotter and do some girlie things like shopping and eating.  The day got away from me, but I have no regrets.  The stores and restaurants will still be there another weekend, but duck season just wont’ wait, will it?

And you all know, I would never, ever poke a duck in the eye with a stick, right?

BW

PS  It’s time for our Community Coffee winner from the previous post.  The winner is:

Random Integer Generator

Here are your random numbers:

8

Timestamp: 2009-11-08 22:26:34 UTC

Comment number 8 is newcomer, Kristina Long!  Congratulations!  Please visit Community Coffee and choose a travel tumbler and email me your mailing address pronto so that can go out to you this week!

Well, I might be smarter than the AVERAGE 7th grader, but I’m certainly not as smart as the 7th graders in  Termite’s Honors Math Class who can graph liner equations quicker than I can say it.

Before I go any further with this tirade, though, I have some unfinished business.  Community Coffee is after me to submit last week’s winner!  Oops!  By the way, Kim, you never claimed your prize from two weeks ago!  So, here we go with the winner.   There are 11 different commenters.  I will ask The Captain to pick a number between 1 and 11.   He picked Number 5!  That would be Heather.   Heather, did you go shopping at Community?  Please email me with your choice today!

How in the world can I help Termite with his homework when he can’t even bring a textbook home?  There is one text to serve the desk he sits in.  That is where it reside–in the metal rack under the desk.  So, I ask a big favor of the teacher.  Can you please loan me a textbook so I can help him?  NO!  But she could burn me a CD which would have more information than the text.

I sent a blank CD.  She burned it.  My computer said it was made on a MAC and so my PC could not open it.  Teacher swore it was burned on a PC.  Please just let me borrow text.  Heck, I’ll buy the **** book.

I can tell you all, having homeschooled all my kids, and now having one in 7th grade public school for the first time  is as frustrating for him as it is for me. Nothing against all you wonderful teachers out there, okay?

This weekend was spent on a project that will comprise about 80% of his science grade this semester:  Science Fair Project.  I have to admit it was a good break from algebra helping him put together this project.

So, do people who play video games on a regular basis have faster reaction times than those won don’t?  Common sense would answer that, but he proved it using scientific method and then graphed his results.  It might not be a prize-winning project, but he managed to make it through.  I only had to sit down and take my blood pressure once during the process.

That would be when the internet kept going out while he was trying to generate eleven of these graphs from a web site, and the color ink cartridge ran out while printing the graphs, at the same time someone was calling to rent the camp, while the guest at the camp was calling with a question, while  another friend beeped in, and yet another friend was texting.   All that was going on while The Captain (unasked by me) put my delicates in the dryer (EEK!) And if you are reading this, and you were any of those people, hopefully by now I’ve apologized to you for being so “short”.   (Except the guy who called about renting the camp.  He won’t take my calls now!  And I can’t say I blame him.)

Now, I am getting ready to drive to town and deliver said project to the gym, where I’m sure I will find out that Termite forgot one important element and that the school would not let him call me, which will bring his “A” project down to  a “B” project, and life goes on.

He’s learning that school is much harder than home school.  He’s wishing now he had applied himself more at home when he had the chance.  He does enjoy seeing his friends every day; but that does not make up for the amounts of homework he has when he gets home.  With only 3 academic classes, 90 minutes each, I wonder why he even has homework.  Seems like teachers could get the teaching done and the kids could get homework done in that amount of time.

But what do I know?

I’m just a little old bayou woman.

So bring forth your condolences, criticisms, encouragements, and advice.  And your comments will provide the next Community Coffee winner!

BW

Not to eat, silly.  When you go fishing and don’t catch anything, we call that “getting the skunk”.

If it hadn’t been for this fellow, I would have gotten the skunk.  And after four hours of fishing HARD in the rolling waves and brisk breezes, the skunk is very hard to swallow.

Around noon, I decided to give my arms a rest, grab my lunch, and just vegetate for a while and see where the current might take me.  I hardly  take time to just sit and cogitate any more.  I guess life spins way too fast most of the time for that to happen.

Feeling like something, maybe life, has sucked the creativity right out of my bones, I just wanted to reflect.   Reflection is good, right?

With so many things, most by my doing, pulling at my time these days, I pause to think about those things that matter most in life.  I immediately think about my children, quickly followed by the thought that they haven’t mattered most for the past year or so.  Yet, when I think back on my years as a stay-at-home mom, they were my happiest.  I was most fulfilled back then.

I had lived over a quarter century before my first child was born.  She was wanted, desired, anxiously awaited.  I fell in love with her the moment I saw her, and that love has only grown deeper.  And I wondered for two years if I could ever love another child as much as I loved her.

I could.  And I did.  Over and over again for many years.

Pregnancy, childbearing, and child rearing were things I could do very well.  And in so doing, I found that my life was full to the point of bursting at times.  And if you are a reader here who has not had the opportunity to be a mother, I very deeply feel your pain and longing and will tell you right now from the bottom of my heart, that I am sorry for your loss.  I am sorry about this post.  Click away, and please forgive me.

My kids will tell you that I was tough on them.  I was a strong disciplinarian.  Even now when I hear a tired, hungry infant crying in WalMart or a toddler pitching a tantrum in any store, I always think the same thing:  None of my children EVER behaved that way in a store.  And the second thought is:  Someone needs to spank that mommy.

And it’s a big deal, being a good mom.  We lived so far down the bayou, and money was so tight, that I planned monthly menus and shopped for groceries once a month.    Try that with 3 children under 5 in tow. But they helped.  They really did.  As toddlers, they folded the wash cloths to help with the laundry.  By the time they were 10, they were doing their own laundry.

It was hard when The Captain was first laid off boats, and we had two babies.   He took a land job that paid much less than what he had been making.  And then before health insurance could kick in, we were being blessed again. Oh, didn’t you know?  Children are a blessing.  Who was I to say, “No thanks! No more blessings for me!”?

Maybe my children tired of hearing their mother say “No, we can’t afford it.”  So one day I quit qualifying the no’s and tried to say yes to everything I possibly could.  I wondered today while drifting, now that my children have their own bills to pay, if they realize that we did all we did on $1800 a month?  Including a house note.

My children swam in Lake Michigan, walked on the edge of the Atlantic, swam in the blue waters of the Florida gulf, and were splashed by Shamu in San Antonio.  They’ve been to the top of the state capitol, played  inside fire trucks, been to the zoo beau coup,  and camped overnight in vans, tents and boats.  They’ve seen the Smoky Mountains, tubed down an ice cold mountain spring, and hand-fed bison and giraffes.

They’ve seen how Louisiana rice is made, and chewed cane straight from the field.  They’ve crossed paths with water moccasins big around as rats and dreamed while coy-dogs yipped in the distance.  They’ve roasted hot dogs and marshmallows on fires they gathered the wood for and started themselves.  They’ve fallen off bicycles, broken teeth, and flown out of go-carts, hiding skinned knees from Mom.  They’ve hunted and fished, knee boarded, and marched in a parade.  They’ve made their own zip-line and run their 3-year-old brother down it, giving Mom heart palpitations.

They’ve mowed grass, gathered eggs, and jumped off the roof onto the trampoline–once.  They’ve tended bee hives and been stung.  They’ve raised rabbits and been in 4-H.  They’ve played softball, baseball, basketball, piano, flute, drums, and guitar.

My kids have fought with each other, but seldom within earshot of me.  They learned quickly to solve their own issues, because they certainly did not want ME to get involved!  Nor have we ever had bouts of “MOM, he’s touching me.  Make him stop touching me.”   From the time they could talk, whining was neither encouraged or tolerated.  And the rule was, if you use my name, it better be important!

You know, good parenting is hard work.  And parenting is the most fulfilling job I have ever had.  I’m thankful that my husband worked so I could stay home.  I’m thankful that he didn’t have to have the newest, latest, and greatest of everything so that I could stay home.  He let me invest myself in five little humans.

So why now, after such a rewarding job of 30 years, do I find myself downcast because I have no IRA, no 401K, and no resume`.   By the world’s standards, I have no investments.  What I do have, though, are five loving children, who have become amazing adults and teens.

With midlife comes a crossroad–a time to look back and look forward.  Five years ago, I wasn’t ready for grandchildren.  Truth be told . . . I haven’t wanted to hold an infant since my youngest left that phase. Now, I feel like I’m approaching the season of my life where I might be ready for a return on my investment.

However, if my children choose not to procreate, then I will be at peace with that choice.  I do worry along with them about bringing children into such uncertain times.

I worry, too, about my son who is so busy spending his hard-earned money that he doesn’t take time to know himself, much less the people he spends his money on.  And I worry about the son who is afraid he will never find an attractive mate who has maintained some sense of self respect and purity in this “show-as-much-flesh-as-you-can” society.

Then there is my special son who is such a joy.  Even so, he is a teen who hates to hear “no”.  He wants to drive a car, like his peers.  He wants to work at the grocery store, like his peers.  I say yes as often as I can to balance out the no’s, but he asks for so little, how can I deny him?

And then there’s the child that could be my grandson.  I mean, don’t some of you have grand kids that are 13?  He has gotten into more things in his short life than the other four put together. And that is no lie.  Ask him how many times he’s heard that.   He was a surprise baby.  Not a mistake, mind you, just a nice, late-life surprise.  He tries my patience.  He makes me crazy.  He wears me down.  He gets away with murder.  But for some reason, the Creator wanted him here, and for all the mischief, I love this last child as much as I do the first.  Ah yes, he keeps me young.

With grandchildren a future dream, a husband facing disability, and two sons still in school, my midlife crisis is a multidimensional one.  For my peers who had to work or chose a career, retirement is at hand.  Meanwhile, I’m wondering how I will provide for myself.  Even so, while reflecting, I’ve taken time to count my blessings . . . there are at least five major ones.

I thank God for giving me such great kids.  I thank goodness they still love me.  I thank them for being here for me when I am down.  Without their support, this crossroad would just be a “cross to bear” rather than a “road to choose”.

I just want to say to my children that I’m sorry for making you listen to the entire Little House on the Prairie series.  I was hoping that somehow we might be moved to record in writing our adventurous lives for others to read 100 years later, but it’s hard to imagine anyone would care, isn’t it?

What others consider mundane and less than, I consider challenging and greater than. I hope a little of that rubbed off over the years.  It makes the lean times much more tolerable.

So son, please settle down and meet Miss Right.  And other son, please open your heart to the remote possibility of a girl whose self respect is still in tact.  And special son, I’m afraid to let you go, so be patient with me.  And baby son, don’t go too far or stay too long when you leave this tyranny called the teens.

You are all worth more to me than any retirement plan!

Reflectively,

BW

PS   Community Coffee has some new coffee flavors and some great Christmas gift packages and tumblers.  Go take a look.  Browse around and see what you might like to win!  Nothing says “Louisiana” like Community!  All comments entered into random drawing this time!