Today is Friday the fourth of July, my least favorite holiday. New Year’s Eve follows close behind. How could I enjoy a holiday where someone always losses a limb? A holiday where people begin the snapping and popping of dynamite a month before the actual day, and for days that follow. A day when the piercing sound of fire engines constantly interrupts the BBQ’s and social gatherings, and hundreds of dogs are lost, terrified, and end up in an animal shelter or run over by a car. I understand and appreciate the base concept of the day, but do those who take advantage of a free-for-all blasting rampage know? The same goes for hearing Christmas songs when it’s Halloween; two months of hype. It’s all about the money.
Being in the middle of a national forest for the fourth of July will be a relief. Fireworks are not allowed, but I did notice we had a few sparklers for sale at the register for the guests and their children. Our barbeque is tomorrow, and I wonder what Helen, our patriotic queen, will be wearing. She must have the ultimate patriotic outfit to show off.
With today’s paycheck, plus tips, I should end up with around $1,800 in the bank. That’s more than I’ve seen in an account for years! I think I’ll pick up my check and drive to Brandon this morning to deposit it and splurge on a string of lights for my Barbie canopy. Lori will be here Sunday the 13th and I want to make it special for her and the kids.
The resident ducks see me open my door, and run in my direction. The ducklings waddle at a safe distance behind, obviously still trying to be adopted. I don’t see the duckling with the broken neck. I walk over to the storage shed, retrieve a pan of seed, and throw it across the bare dirt. While the resident ducks are eagerly eating, I get another pan of seed, walk a good distance from them, and throw it out for the ducklings. They eat ravenously, but do not get a chance to finish before the fat mature ducks charge over and take over their much-needed meal. I repeat the process until everyone is full.
Walking back to the fifth wheel, I see Billy and Ray leave the park. They need to get supplies for the barbeque and Ray has a doctor’s appointment. It feels as if it will be a very hot day and several new sprouts of grass are bursting through the surface, so I move the sprinkler and turn it on.
With Bonita and Bandito proudly on their pile of blankets, we head to the creek, to Brandon for groceries, the bank, and to search for my special string of lights. When I return, I head to work and have a pleasantly uncomplicated, drama-free, busy day. I am turning into one hell of a fast-fry cook!
The park is full to capacity. There isn’t much time for drama. Of course, there is the expected lack of toilet paper in the restrooms, the trash problem, flies, and Bubba being loud and obnoxious, but hey, that’s nothing new, at least nothing blew up, and no human or animal got killed, or eaten, except maybe a duckling with a broken neck.
After my morning routine the next day, I begin hanging the lights on the canopy. Occasionally, I get a whiff of the revolting stench from the thick film of algae growing on the lake. The mosquitoes and trash congregate on the sludge and make for an eye and nose sore. On top of that, Bubba is down by the dilapidated boat holding a paint bucket and he seems to be brushing the source of an additional toxic resin smell from the bucket and slapping it on the interior walls of the boat.
He seems as determined to get that boat afloat, as my father is to keep driving his 1960’s Ford Falcon with the three speed gear shift at the steering wheel. The Ford is dented, faded blue, and the clear coat is peeling off. Last time I visited mom and dad, I noticed that it had 375,000 miles on the odometer. Dad duct taped over a deep rip on the outside passenger door, and painted the duct tape a clashing shade of blue in an effort to match the car. He’s proud of his ninety-nine cent repair job. Dad has done all the engine repairs and oil changes on that car since the day he bought it—forty years ago. There is as much wire and tape in the engine, as there is on the exterior, but what’s amazing is this; it runs like a jet plane! Dad becomes angry and defensive when we mention to him that he has more money than one person could ever need in their lifetime hoarded away in several bank accounts. He could easily buy a new car. This type of thinking does not fly with his personal agenda and miserly ways. Dad will drive that car until it disintegrates into the road.
I’m almost done stringing the lights when I catch a glimpse of the ducklings slowly and cautiously test the lake water. They are peeping softly, and are apprehensive to experiment with swimming. One duckling gets brave and begins to float a foot or so from the edge. Like a secret raid on the enemy, the resident ducks storm out of their hiding spot and attack the ducklings, who scatter into the dirt terrified. The ducks quack together with their heads arched in pride, claiming the edge of the lake as their own and then float freely away. One of the ducks separates itself from the pack and slowly returns to the ducklings. The ducklings once again huddle in fear. The duck approaches them slowly. I look for my sling shot, just in case it tries to kill one of them. It swims to the shore, gets out, and stands a few feet away from the ducklings, making a gentle quacking sound. The timid group begins to peep softly in reply, but do not move a feather. The duck steps back into the lake and swims in a tight circle, quacking. The perplexed ducklings stretch their heads up to get a better glimpse of the swimming duck. The duck once again walks to the edge of the lake, even nearer to the ducklings, returns to the lake, and repeats the process of swimming in a circle. If I’m not mistaken, it’s trying to teach the ducklings to swim. Sure enough, the ducklings guardedly advance to the water, entering one at a time. The duck quietly circles around the joyful ducklings and leads them away to the far end of the lake, claiming them as her own. I am overwhelmed to have witnessed this event. That duck has some heart! A painful tear creeps from my eye as the happy peeping fades slowly away.
With the chaos of the barbeque at hand, I apprehensively go to work feeling much more confident in what is expected of me. Bubba talks jubilantly about his boat and his intention of ridding the lake of the surface scum by cruising back and forth in the boat, chopping the stringy algae with the motor blade. Of course, he is not chatting idly away with me, but with his good buddy, Karen. I happen to be within earshot and listen intently to his ridiculous scheme. He intends to launch the boat tomorrow when most of the guests have left the park. I will be peering out from the fifth wheel to watch that—a big man in a shitty boat in three feet of muck.
When the insane barbeque finally winds down, a nice warm summer wind comes up to blow away all the flies. I take Bonita and Bandito for a walk. A musical trio, who have obviously been together for decades, is playing old country tunes on Billy and Ray’s patio for the few remaining guests. I walk around the kitchen to the outer side of the dirt road, hugging the unlit tree line, so as to not be seen by the scattered few individuals left enjoying the music. Terry is harassing some lady and accusing her of flirting with Bubba, who is currently doing a jig with a beer in his hand next to the trio.
Safely inside the fifth wheel, I pour myself a drink and listen to the people outside. Car lights flash by my curtained windows as people slowly leave. The trio has finished playing, but have turned on some cassettes through their sound system.
Exhausted, I put on comfortable sleepwear, and crawl up to bed. Suddenly, I hear the microphone making a high-pitched squeal, that horrible noise they make when a connection is bad or when someone handles the microphone in the wrong way. An unfamiliar song vibrates loudly through the speakers, and a familiar voice sings along. “DON’T GIVE ME NO CHAMPAGNE, NO FANCY LITTLE DRINK. DON’T GIVE ME SWEET COCKTAILS THE COLOR OF PINK, CAUSE I LIKE BEER!!……….I LIKE BEER!!!!!……..I LIKE BEEEEEER!!!!!
“Shut the hell up Bubba!” Billy shouts.
Just like that, the music stops, and I fall asleep with a smile on my face.