Return to Eight Point, Part II

(Contd.)

Thursday

July 16th

"The Sandbar and the Cagafuego"

Late morning on Eight Point Lake. . .

Uncle Brian and a crap-load of accident-prone children.

Behold:  the Cagafuego.  I found it resting upright against the cottage's garage, and decided to use it as my personal adventure vessel for the week.  After cleaning it out with a wet rag and throwing in the usual essentials (a life vest I had no intention of ever using, rope to tie it off to a dock, a pipe/tobacco pouch, towels, and my book), she was ready for action on the High Seas (just like her infamous namesake.)  Here she charters yet another course around Cape Buoy. . .

Oddly enough, this became a kid favorite after a few days.  Hearing five-year-olds running around screaming the word 'cagafuego' never gets old.

I think we need more dogs.

Alayna works diligently in her Science Activity Book. . . which she requested to take to the cottage for the week.  Leave it to my kid to voluntarily bring along her homework on a family lakefront vacation. 

En route to the Eight Point Lake Sandbar. . .

The sandbar extends nearly half-way across the eastern side of the lake, running north to south.  On weekends, it's clogged with anchored pontoon boats and fair-weather patrons, but today - being Thursday - we basically had the place to ourselves.

I can't wait 'til my kids learn how to frickin' swim. . .

Dad and Cindy drove out in the red boat and met us up there a little while later. . .

See that walkie-talkie?  I had them special-ordered from Amazon up to the Cottage so that we had a way of communicating from land-to-boat, or from boat-to-boat (I brought my more-expensive walkie-talkies up, but I didn't want to risk some kid dropping them in the lake.)  Of course, the first time Amazon tried delivering them, I got the cottage address wrong, so they had to come up the next day to drop them off.  They work awesomely well, though.

On the hunt for shells and fossils.

No idea why Jax is so pissed off.

 

This is how Jill and Kris spent the couple hours we spent at the Sandbar.

More of the Sandbar.

Conked out.

Later in the evening, Cindy took Dad into town to rest up before he was to undergo surgery early Friday morning to have his kidney stones removed. . . so the Houghs and Whites had the cabin all to themselves for the night.

Friday

July 17th

"Uncle Bryan and Papa's Surgery"

A dismally foggy morning over the lake.

Rock and roll.

Abby is obsessed with this Star Wars comic book she picked out at the Collector's Corner (a comic book store in Midland.)  Probably has something to do with the terribly-impersonated voices I use for the characters throughout the issue.

Ever the ham.

Jax enjoys pissing off our dog.

Some beef briquets for lunch, courtesy of Brian White.

Shortly after lunch, Bryan arrived from Vegas - marking the first time in six years all five siblings would be up at the cottage at one time.

Bradley.  Being Bradley.

Jax figured it would be a good idea to throw his pacifier into the lake.

Ready for another cruise around the lake.  The girls were warming up to being on a boat, and didn't really mind going fast anymore.  Still couldn't get them in a tube, though.

Foreboding doom.

Bradley tries his hand at wakeboarding.

Blake

Uncle Bryan is arguably the best wakeboarder in the family, but now that he's approaching his mid-30s, he apparently doesn't have the back he used to.  He'd suffer some pretty hardcore back pain for the next few days.

Drinking refreshments out of some fancy glasses (Sprite for the girls, chardonnay for Yours Truly.)

Pulling in to Bev's Country Store for some sub-par, over-priced gas and much-needed supplies.

An Eight Point Lake institution.

Bev (on the left) has handled this place for years.  It's like a one-stop store for just about everything you could possibly want while up at the lake.  Fishing tackle, basic dry grocery goods, an insane amount of beverages, snacks and candy, beer and wine, fireworks, cigarettes and cigars, fuel, ice, and liquor. 

. . . and now, apparently, they host a give-a-book/take-a-book library.  I was all about this (as you may recall, I'm somewhat of a book hoarder), but I didn't have a book to donate; fortunately Bev just told me to grab one, 'cause nobody really takes any of them.  I found a collector's edition, hardcover, leather-bound, illustrated version of Robert Louis Stevenson's Kidnapped for my home library.  BOOYA.

Headed back to the cabin with our spoils.  We picked up some beverages, more ice, gas for the boat, some Black and Mild cigars (for Bryan and I), a bottle of Fireball whiskey, and - of course - more fireworks.

. . . I also let Abby pick out a bag-full of candy for her and her sister, along with a bottle of Cotton Candy Faygo (which tasted just as disgustingly sweet as it sounds.)

Preppin' steaks for the grill (Bryan went to culinary school, so this was a rare treat for all of us.)

Taking the kids out on a paddleboat ride. . .

There is NOTHING fun about a paddleboat.  Let know one tell you differently.  I'll take the Cagafuego any day.

Throwing nephews.

Brian takes Jax out for a 'calm-the-f***-down' bike ride while the grill warms up.

I picked this up at the Midland Meijer a couple weeks ago for the cottage.  I'm a big fan of maple whiskeys, so maple moonshine seemed like a decent enough selection at the time. . . 

Breaking out the 'Shine. . .

These steaks were amazing.

Launching fireworks off the dock.

Nap time.

Kris and the girls joined the White family as they took the boys around the lake tubing after dinner.  Here Abby calls to shore to check in on the rest of the fam.

I stayed behind so I could work on whittling a piece of driftwood I picked up on the Sandbar the day before.  I figure I'll turn it into a bitchin' walking stick.

Making port

Cindy tries to take a nice, sweet picture of our kids.

Popsicle break.

Bradley and I work on the evening's campfire. . .

Lighting of the Tiki Torches

Sunset over Eight Point Lake

This marked the end of the strictly-family period at the Cottage.  The next day would see an influx of Waites, Grants, and other extended relatives and friends-of-family.  Let the chaos begin. . .

- Brian