We arrived at Maskwa Aquatic Club, sweaty and cranky… dragging to a 5×5 clearing on the people-packed patch of grass a cooler, two beach chairs, an umbrella, a beach bag filled with last year’s garbage and various necessities and a five dollar pizza that for some reason now costs five fifty five and not just five.
I was pooped and instantly reminded of how much work it actually took to get to the lake to relax!
It was another fifteen minutes before I’d unfolded the camp chairs, stopped another sibling argument, said hello to a few friends, took the lid off the pizza, applied a layer of sunscreen, put my feet on the cooler, took a deep breath and settled in for the day. The plan was for the children to have their lunch then immediately jump into the lake to cool off before waiting the twenty obligatory minutes my mother swore brought on belly aches and drowning.
I’d been a member of Maskwa for many summers but this year decided against joining. With busy kids, camps, a few weeks with their father and the unpredictable weather… it just didn’t make financial sense to purchase a summer membership. However, yesterday I took advantage of a “day pass” given by Prada to myself and Gib so we could all enjoy the day together. We were halfway through our pizza when the rest of our gang arrived… Gib and Prada carrying in another load of chairs and coolers and an additional half dozen children dragging behind them. It was to be a great day!
But for the beaver.
Word spread quickly and rumors ran amok. Dead in the swimming lanes, bloated and dragged out by DNR… its discovery shut down our entire adventure for fear of “Beaver Fever” or some other such horrid infliction caused by the aquatic rodent who chances are died from natural causes like banging its head against the dock from listening to her children fight one too many times. Unfortunately for me… this one had the audacity of floating to the surface in the swimming lanes on the one and only day I chose to take my children to the lake causing the private beach to be shut down in an attempt to avoid panic and a dreaded rash even though chances are multiple varmint are dead all around the water’s shore.
I considered jumping into the lake to make the splashing point that “NO BUCK TOOTHED BEAVER CAN TAKE ME DOWN!” but sadly neither bathing suit I tried on that morning was fit to wear so instead I stood… sighed… packed up the entire caravan of various lake paraphernalia and a half eaten pizza then proceeded to drive to the other end of Kearney Lake where Gib, Prada, myself and a gaggle of children enjoyed an afternoon of swimming and laughter where no one gave a crap about nasty dead beavers.
I’ve had my share of rodents try to ruin my adventure through the years and if there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s this… membership has its privileges… but there’s always a plan B.