Leaving behind the soaking wet ground in Bossier City, we began our trek to Brandon, Mississippi, with further rain clouds and downpours at the beginning of our drive and not a cloud to be seen as we entered Brandon. Despite having researched the campground, what we drove through was not what we expected.
Affluent neighborhoods, gated communities, and stylized stores with brick and mortar façade outlined with groves of trees and on-theme signage to alert the patron that they are somewhere special. Even the YMCA was in a resort-style setting, and I readily admit I did not know a Y could look like this. Conveniently adjacent to the Y's grounds is the Timberlake Campground, which sits up against the Ross R. Barnett Reservoir and is governed by the state of Mississippi's regulations. Keep it clean, and no funny business!
Driving past the office, we turned left with the intention of driving down one of the lanes toward the waterfront, which is where our spot was. Admittedly, there was not a clear path of which to take. Many of the lanes had construction at the time that we traveled there, and some of the lanes did not cater to clear instructions. We had to decide for ourselves, as it happened during a board meeting upon our arrival, so there was no one available to guide us through it. I would chalk this up to circumstance rather than routine. Nearing our site, we made a K-turn and backed in so that we could line up with the utilities.
What stood out for me at this campground was the number of trees. There were so many that it created the illusion that you were in a forest leading up to the water. Between our Airstream and the water line was a grassy meadow that many people took their dogs to walk in. There were plenty of geese walking around, and thus, goose poop…and ant hills—Vito's favorite. Whenever Vito is out on a walk and discovers an ant hill, it becomes his life mission to throw his head onto the ground, ear first, and topple into the ant hill and roll around in it until he has thoroughly absorbed the scent of every living member of the colony. Deep breath. Deep breath. The size of the ants was not the largest we had seen, but their control of moving dirt was significant, and the mounds we came upon were a bit daunting. Taking note, we proceeded with caution about what we would leave out and to make sure to keep multiple eyes on Vito when we went for walks. Benny, we didn't worry about so much.
Having had a long and tiring day, we decided to keep a leisurely afternoon to settle in as usual and enjoy a cup of coffee until the evening hour settled in, and we could prepare dinner. At about this time, the wind picked up, and you could really feel the breeze coming in off the water and hear the choppiness of the waves. It had the essence of being on the Long Island Sound without quite the robustness of the water hitting the shoreline; quite the happy marriage of memories from my childhood combining Long Island water with the campground experience of South Dakota. Many children were running around and doing things that kids do—playing with their friends, riding on bikes, and getting ready for dinner as their parents scooted them inside. I can imagine that this is a very happy childhood memory for many of those children.
It was a grilled chicken and salad kind of night, with an assortment of leftover grilled vegetables and some of the canned ones we brought with us. It is not super exciting, but it is easy on the stomach and allows for more excitement the next day. Despite the less-than-adventurous meal, we were greeted with a beautiful sunset of painted colors over the reservoir.
I enjoyed a couple of glasses of iced sweet tea with frozen lemon slices from the Meyer lemon tree in our backyard while Jamie worked on getting the television sorted out and then ran to the store briefly to pick up some snacks. I've never outgrown the appeal of disgustingly wonderful grocery store box snacks when camping. I want the chocolate chip cookies, the ice cream sandwiches, the salty snacks that crunch. Pretty much anything that makes me feel like a kid. I want the whole camp experience. I want that magic.
The night's great gift to the universe included Chips Ahoy chocolate chip and (who knew?) Reese's Pieces, combined into one soft, chewy cookie in the relied-upon tray format. Combining that with the warm weather we indulged in, this was the melt-in-my-mouth experience I was hoping for. I devoured a whole row by myself, and my stomach reminded me of said adult decision-making the next morning. "Remember that thing you ate last night? Remember that?"
The pace from Louisiana made us both a bit weary, so our desire for adventure was significantly reduced. We also knew that we had a few days coming up where we anticipated getting around a bit more, so easy days were the best choice for us. Walking out to the parkway with Benny and Vito charging ahead of us, we passed the rows and rows of RVs that were a clear indication that this was "the" place to go for spring vacation. The long pathways lead out to the parkway, which allows people who walk to their places of employment to have a safe way to go. Following along the parkway and feeling a tiny bit adventurous, we turned left and headed toward the YMCA resort. The gate to the property was about ¼ mile down a two-lane parkway divided by a grassy median, with wide brick on either side of the entrance.
We wandered through the roads as they twisted and turned and bent around picnic tables and weaved past barbeques with pockets near the water's edge to offer a majestic view. The geese were plentiful, as were other various birds floating about the property, and a few men were parked with their dogs and fishing poles in hopes of the day's catch or a break from some other affair. A bad day fishing is better than a good day at the office, after all.
The freshness of the air did not disappoint. Living up to the ambiance of the community, I couldn't help but notice how clean everything was. The fishmonger smell that often correlates with the baked remains of a fish in the sun brings about a wriggling of the nose, which was absent. Being that a good fishmonger would scowl over the mere suggestion of a fish stinking up the place, this is a good thing. Good fish shouldn't smell like anything.
The boys were heavily immersed in the darting activities of squirrel watching and pigeon chasing as we continued to walk down the path, which turned into a designated exercise circuit with wood and metal-finished stationary equipment for stretches and sit-ups. The path led back to the parkway, where we began our morning roam.
That afternoon, Jamie ordered from Shaggy's On The Rez for our local lunch, which was large enough to serve two people two meals. A fried seafood platter filled with an assortment of catfish, shrimp, hush puppies, crab cakes, and French fries, served with lemon, tartar sauce, ketchup, and remoulade. Seafood and its associated sides will always remain my ideal vacation food. In fact, I think I dream about seafood in anticipation of my vacation. Shaggy's On The Rez did not skimp out on seasoning or salt, and each item was breaded appropriately. The fried catfish was sturdy enough to pick up with my hand and dip into the remoulade but soft enough to break apart when it hit my mouth, and my teeth gently bit down for the first time. That is the ideal way to eat catfish. I don't want any fuss. A little bit of a mess is never a bother, and I find the remoulade drips down my hand and onto other food on my plate underneath, as one does with finger food. Forks and knives are an afterthought for a meal like this.
After cleaning up lunch, I gathered the towels and a few other items to bring, once again, to the laundry. This time, I took the truck and drove up the winding path around the office structure and into a nearby parking lot. The lot sits adjacent to the pool that opens up on Memorial Day when the weather is warmer and more seasonable for swimming. While laundry is not necessarily an exciting topic, the lead-up to the laundry room was. There happens to be a number of geese that hold residences close to the office building. On this occasion, there were two geese couples where the female was looking for a place to nest (or eat), and the male was standing guard from any predators. Male geese trying to protect the female are known for being aggressive. If you come within their eyesight, they will hiss and cause a scene until you are far enough away that they feel that the female is no longer threatened, even if you are carrying a laundry bag and detergent and trying not to make eye contact. This exchange meant that every time I walked past the geese to the laundry room, I had to endure the angry rhetoric of a frantic goose trying to protect his future investments. I found myself trying to reason with the goose every time I passed by. "I'm not going to come near her – I'm just switching loads [of laundry]," I repeated, shuffling my feet and keeping my eyes averted while keeping Mr. Goose in my periphery. So much so that I started strategizing different ways to get around the goose so that I would leave him in peace and his partner could rest. At that point, I discovered the other pair of geese, and my efforts were thwarted.
Sigh. At one point, I decided that going back to the truck was no longer constructive, and I set my eyes on a swing set that was in the complete opposite direction from the laundry. Now, this seemed like a fun alternative to sitting in the hot truck and baking in the sun while waiting for everything to dry in the machines. Resting on a bed of well-trodden mulch, a swing set with about four swings sat silently in the quiet and beckoned me to sit and swing my legs and get a break from the geese.
It reminded me of how infrequently we stop to play as adults: to sit in a swing and not let our feet touch the ground. To bend back and forward, giving the swing momentum. Letting the world move underneath me while the swing takes the weight off my ankles and redistributes it to my thighs and gives me the opportunity to just be. It's different from meditation. Meditation always seemed so calculated and never required the playfulness I needed to let go. The slow, mindless movement of the swing with only the motivation to go up … and back, and maybe a bit higher with a little effort and a bend of the chains under the direction of my hands. As a child, the hidden agenda would have been to swing as high as I could so I could "fly" off the seat and land in a chaotic pile without injury. With my head thrown back and my hair blowing in the manufactured breeze from my actions as I sail from the seat of the swing in an arc to the ground, I would be laughing till I made myself sick. A part of me is tempted to recreate this, but that overbearing burden of medical payments, insurance, and fragile limbs takes over and prevents me from taking action. With a choice between this and the hissing goose, I choose the goose.
By this time, the laundry is done. The towels are fluffy and hot and stick to my hands and shirt, with the static cling that permanently adheres to me despite my use of dryer sheets and a good shake-out afterward. I have managed a folding system now that includes using our laundry bag as a sheet to fold on and stacking the towels one by one on top of each other to create a well-defined brick, lifting them with my right hand and moving the whole pile into the bag so they never touch the table. The tables are clean and have Lysol wipes nearby, but I can never break away from the feeling that they are never "clean enough," so my laundry acrobatics will remain a staple until we go home.
We were too stuffed to eat dinner. The lunch from Shaggy's was filling enough to satiate us till breakfast. A mug of tea and warm, clean pajamas are sufficient to keep me occupied as we let our bodies drift off to sleep. We can hear the sound of a hired band across the water playing various Bon Jovi covers under the hanging lights of the stage that we are gently aware of. The night air is cool and hits that extraordinary silence enforced by campground regulations and sound ordinances. Our road to Alabama would begin in the morning, and the anticipation made my nose tingle with excitement.
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