Sleeping Porch

Sleeping Porch Light bulbs strung like stars made their way from the camp house down to the dock. We had two old boats tied up down there at the ready. One was made of metal an old Johnboat and the other was a bateau we had pulled from the depths and brought back to life. They were both painted monkey **** brown and could be used for fishing or covered with a tarp and double as duck blinds. My brother and I found many other uses for them over the years that weren’t quite so conventional but nevertheless practical. We lived at that camp house every weekend and my parents took their yearly vacations there every other year. On the off years we would go to New Mexico and visit their friends who had lived next door when my father was stationed at Sandia Base in Albuquerque. And they in turn would come out to the camp the years we spent there in Louisiana. Don and Elsie loved fishing and hunting as my father did. I think my mother being British just learned to put up with it and enjoyed the company. My brother and I were just along for the ride. He enjoyed the outdoors much more than I and wallowed in the times. I couldn’t say that I didn’t have fun but I would have been happier reading a book or playing my drums. Somehow these things just came to pass and we all lived in these times as one happy clan. There was nothing fancy about the fishing camp. It was an L-shaped house with a fireplace, kitchen, one bathroom, and three double beds. No privacy. The best thing about it was the sleeping porch. The sleeping porch was the best and was where I spent all my time especially at night. There was and old attic fan that add been converted and turned side ways to blow down the porch. I would crank that up and listen to the frogs and fall asleep in swamp land every night. No worries in the world. A perfect crib for a fifteen year old with no choices.