I spent my weekends as a tween and teen at my parent's camp in Slidell, LA. Camps in south LA are houses built on pilings over water. They're used for fishing, hunting and any other outdoor recreation, like swimming and crawfish boils. As a child, the camp was cool with it's wharfs that were perfect for casting nets to catch small shrimp and fish for bait. My favorite spot was the hole in the back room that my Paw Paw had cut straight through the floor. I could hang a light in the opening and fish late into the night.
As a teen, just the "c" sound would initiate an eye roll followed by the sigh/moan that is expected to be a response. The camp meant I wasn't going to hang with my friends doing "normal" activities. The camp meant I was trapped into a weekend with just my family. No phone, no TV, but plenty of what I perceived as miserable moments.
I have become the walking adult cliche who says "those were the good times" and I was a fool to not have seen it then.
I was reminded of the camp this weekend while the kids and I spent a few days with Michael at "the cottage". The cottage is similar to the camp. Small, bare essentials, no phone, no TV. But it's not over water. It sits on several acres with a pond, field filled with horses and is just down the street from the grandparents. It's a place of semi-disconnection with the world so we can reconnect with one another.
While we have moments like the one below at home, it's nice to cram my brood into a smaller dwelling so they're literally on top of one another. It builds patience, tolerance, acceptance and more effective conflict resolution.
We reconnected this weekend, all 10 of us (our circus and the 3 grandparents), over fresh seafood caught by Michael. We shared stories, shared laughs, shared tears.
The tears came from the difficult decision to have our 9 year-old blue heeler put to sleep. Her aging body, along with rapid sight loss, had become problematic to her. Her behavior was quickly turning unsafe and included snapping, which had left visible marks on our skin. As my mom put it, "She had a hard time tolerating other children. Now, she can't tolerate her own."
We brought Jewel home as a small bundle of nippy teeth, true to her heeler genes, just after arriving on Kodiak for our second tour in 2002. Emma named her Jewel for our favorite spot on base, Jewel Beach.
She wasn't a stellar obedience class star. In fact, the trainer had recommended we have her put down. Her biting and nipping would surely hurt someone, she reasoned, but we believed we could change this canine. I can't say we succeeded after nine years, but I can say she eventually slowed down.
Jewel was an energetic fur bundle who once found her way home through a blizzard and 6 days of navigation from Bell's Flats to our military home on base in Kodiak. She enjoyed riding the ATVs, hanging her head out of the truck, shredding Barbie hair, shredding paper and sleeping on her back. She couldn't stand camp fires or loud noises or being left alone outside. She was neurotic with a capital "N" and she was ours.
May you have many couches to sleep on (without being told to get off) and an endless supply of balls to chase, Jewel. We will miss you, old girl.
