Labor Day Weekend and the Lake's Gone MAD!

It's Labor Day Weekend at Indian Lake, and it's SUNNY, which means there will be boating, there will be swimming, there will be eating and plenty-o-cocktails.   Apparently, it also means that the wildlife has gone stark raving mad.  There was a crazy-weird spider perched on the doorframe of the cottage yesterday (some sort of "Orb Weaver") which almost sent my brother Rayo into the next county to enjoy his Labor Day festivities.    There have been large blue herons landing precariously in trees, and for the first time in many years, a white duck.  I don't want this to sound duck-racist, but when I was a young girl, the whole duck population was white.  They have been gone for years, and truly, I have no idea what happened.  Did they breed with other ducks and change the look of their "people?"  Do they find a better lake?   Indian Lake has been home to many Mallards and brown ducks (I'm sure there's a much more technical name, but for now, I will just refer to them as the "common brown duck") for years and years.  One, in particular, that I am not fond of at all, for he quacks his fool beak off at almost exactly 6:00 am every morning.  You might wonder how I know it it is a boy duck, or the same common brown duck?  I just know.    Anyway, yesterday, floating together in perfect harmony, a brown duck and a white duck.  It was just so nice to see ducks getting along like that.  I say, Happy Labor Day, ducks.


Everyone is also constantly on Bald Eagle watch, for the eagles have landed and nested at the lake.  This has caused my dad to have 100 pairs of binoculars at the ready, including one GIANT pair that make him look like The Fly when he uses them,  for any given bird sighting, or in case a neighbor is doing something shady.    It's like, "Hey, is that an eagle?  Oh, what are those people carrying in their boat?  And it looks like Bonnie and Joe just got here."    Last night, we were trying to get him to focus in on Jono's game score in Mentor, but no avail.  Sucky binoculars, Fly.


We've added Nerf Darts into the equation this weekend, and though I tried to get Sam to stop shooting my nephew, Gabe, Gabe informed me that he was totally open to being shot anytime, anyplace.  So the rule is, only shoot the dartboard and any person who is okay with being shot.  If you don't want to be shot, just tell someone.  Real world, take a note.  If you don't want to be shot, just tell someone.  Problem solved.  


Also, the whiffle ball bats have become light sabers, and apparently, if you put yours down, you have officially "quit" and others can double up on their saber-ness.


There has been some power garage-sale shopping.  Abby and her cousin went trolling for treasures and came home with. . . um. . . treasures, let me tell you.  A purple shag rug and a color-changing fiber optic lamp.  "I've always wanted one of these rugs," she said, as it's draped around her neck.  Shudder.  I'll be washing her.  And the rug.  "I really want to get rid of  my rug anyway, and this is perfect."  I think of the 8 x 10 Pottery Barn rug in her room and how it's not going to be replaced with a $2 purple yard sale rug.  "Super!" I say.  The lamp is glowing in the cottage bedroom that Abby shares with my niece and it is kind of funky.  My nephew bought a $1 electronic organizer.  The possible-pleatherette case was totally worth the price.


The duck is quacking at me, so I'm going to head downstairs to begin the Labor Day festivities.  But don't worry.  It's not 6:00 am.  It's more like 9:30 am.  But it's 5:00 pm somewhere. . . .