Eight Point Lake '19, Pt. IV

(contd.)

Day IV

"The Cornhole Tournament, and the End of the Cottage"

Here we are at last:  the culmination of our week on Eight Point Lake.  The annual Cornhole Tournament, and we were fortunate enough to be blessed with beautiful weather projected for the entirety of the day.

Brian got up early to begin smoking dead animals for the evening's big feast.  In your face, vegans.

Chris, Nicole and the twins returned to the lake later on in the morning (their gamble for holding out for better weather having paid off substantially.)  Dad had promised the boys a boat ride, so we loaded up all the kids for a quick pontoon ride around the lake.

Dad and Samwise

Watson prefers to nap in the sun.  Can't say I blame him.

Nana

Louis

Gettin' down with some snacks on an incredibly chill boat cruise. . .

Sam had a turn at 'driving' the boat.

. . . so of course this happened.

We didn't cruise the lake long at all - the weather being as nice as it was, we decided to hurry back to the Cottage in order to stock up coolers, grab some towels, and head over to the Sandbar in order to let the little kids splash around in the lake.

Near-middle schoolers, prepping for another outing on the lake.

Dad shuts down Jax's choice of which song to play next on the pontoon's radio.  The music these kids are into these days is the f***ing worst.

The clan assembled, heading over to the Sandbar.

Stocking up on caffeine and sugar en route.

Showing the twins the Sandbar. . .

The older kids attempted a quick game of volleyball while we were up there, but it didn't last long.  Turns out none of the kids were really any good at it and they lost interest pretty quick.

Uncle Bryan and what's left of the Sandbar's pitiful treeline. . .

Splash attack, feat. the Disaster Twins.

They were way too into this. . .

We trashed the shit out of this boat.

Brian and the White Boat showed up shortly thereafter, dragging up the new tubing rig for kids to play on.

These three spent quite a bit of time on this thing, being pulled in towards the back of the boat before being pushed back out gain, back and forth, while we were anchored at the Sandbar.  Not sure how that's fun.

 

Before we left the Sandbar, Blake's friend, Nick, mentioned that he had seen what looked like Alayna's missing, inflatable Swan sitting on someone's lawn, on the far side of the lake.  On our way back, we decided to swing by and check it out.

Sure enough, it was.  At long last, Alayna and the infamous Swan were finally reunited.  The Great Hunt was over.

(Slightly more crowded on the ride back to the Cottage.)

Chelsey and Kris, catchin' up on some snacking.

Lucy came over to give Cindy a hand with preparing the evening's big tournament meal.

Wardrobe changes.  You'd think these two were presenting at a frickin' awards show how often they underwent this process. . .

Having passed the administrating torch to a new generation, Dad and Uncle Larry and I work at organizing the year's bracket and teams.

Watson sorta-patiently waited on the dock for the duration of the time I handled tournament business on the pontoon.

Bird friends, reassembled.

This year's teams, which were pulled totally at random out of a hat, then doctored up a little in order to let the womenfolk more time in the kitchen prepping for the meal.  As if the fates themselves wished it, the Borthers were once again paired up for another round of battle.

The beginning of the tournament.  We stripped it down as much as possible in order to keep games moving as quickly as possible - I don't think anyone really wanted to spend a whole hell of a lot of time playing this in such good weather, not while we had boats and a lake just waiting to be enjoyed.  Kinda pissed that I didn't get another picture of this thing after it was all filled out. . .

Kris and Brian face off against Bradley and Al. . .

Blake bides his time. . .

This year's tournament suffered from a few set-backs right out of the gate.  For one, not only was I competing again this year (on a competitive team that, for the last three years, has placed in the Top Three), but I was also officiating the entirety of the tournament as well as taking about 97% of the pictures.  As such, I was spread ridiculously thin and didn't photograph things nearly as well as I could have (and there were no pictures taken while the Borthers played through the series.)  On top of all of this, the Whites' dog, Duke, swallowed a f***ig fish hook and had to be taken to the vet.  Brian W. handled this, so Dad had to step in for him.  Him and Kris were knocked out in the following game, so once out of the tournament Kris took the girls down the road to enjoy some time at the lake's beach.

Chris and Nicole - and the twins - took off in the afternoon, the twins not being able to nap up at the Cottage what with all the people and commotion about.  They'd be leaving in a week or two for their new lives in scenic, kick-ass. . . Indiana.

Meanwhile, back at the beach. . .

The tournament rolls on.  Sluggishly.

Burying Abby in not-nearly-as-nice-as-Floridian sand.

Creepy Uncle Bryan.

Long story short, Nick and Jill took first this year.  They were a little lop-sided, both of them being A players - next year we have to make sure to remedy that.  Bryan and I placed a dismal third (Bryan, our A player, was having an off game this year.)

The silver medalists.

Champions and Runners-Up, 2019.

Christina and the Cannonball

We had to leave early in the evening, shortly after dinner, as Kris had to work in the morning and the girls were both starting summer camps through the Midland Center for the Arts the following day.  Before we left, we snapped our mandatory Family Picture on the Dock picture.  This would ultimately be our last summer at the faithful cottage we had frequented since the Summer of 2002, as Dad and Cindy are planning on buying their own property on the lake later in the summer.  This year was the final straw for everyone, forcing our family to address the long-running problem of a growing family and an ever-shrinking cottage.  Too many kids, grandkids getting older and wanting to bring friends along with them, not enough sleeping space, and only one frickin' bathroom.  It surely is the end of an era - nearly twenty years running - but it's far past time.  This time next year, we'll be corn-holing on a new battlefield.

- Fín - 

- Brian