The Mississippi Mud

Friday February 12, 2021

Today didn’t go as planned either, which I’m learning is part and parcel of this Road-Schooling life. After doing a half day of school (which for us consisted of math and handwriting instead of a full day which is all four basics - reading/grammar/composition, handwriting, spelling, and math), we took a 20 minute drive past sugar can farms and oil refineries to a little historic area called Cajun Village.

In Cajun village, we found 10 historic buildings from the civil was era or turn of the century, which were moved from all over the surrounding counties. These were then turned into a shopping village with a souvenir store, candy store, antique store, pottery barn, blacksmith barn and a fantastic little breakfast place complete with homemade beignets.

Beignets, you say?? Yes, please! We got five orders. One was not enough so we got two more. Then we got two to go for daddy who was working at home and missed the fun. No judgement, please…

I had planned for an afternoon trip to an alligator farm, and if that didn’t work we were to go to the International Petroleum museum to tour an Oil rig. Neither panned out, the former because of the cold (alligators don’t like cold, apparently, being cold blooded and all) and poor planning on my part (it’s hard to find one open and close enough to be feasible when so much is shut because of the covid!), and the latter because the time frame to get there in time for the tour didn’t work out for us. And really - who am I kidding, because the kids didn’t want to tour an oil rig in 41 degree weather.

We were all actually glad to return to The Great Pretender (I’ll have the explain the name of our 36ft fifth wheel in another post) to look at our souvenirs (real alligator heads for Ben and Nora and keychains and postcards for Hope who already got her gator gear at the swamp tour) and play outside and in the game room here. The trouble began when Aaron decided he was going to do an outside clean up since our time here is quickly waning.

After disassembling the flat top and closing up the outdoor kitchen, he hooked up the hose and started to spray the mud from under the front of the rig. This, apparently was a grave mistake for our children. Let me explain.

When we arrived, the children were delighted with the “Mississippi River mud” they found around our campsite. They subsequently collected as much mud as possible for their pottery operation. They sculpted, they formed, they let it dry and laid it out to dry in the humid and rainy swamp climate that rules here in southern Louisiana. I don’t see any thing that could go wrong this, do you??

Most of it disintegrated in the massive downpours of the last few days and scattered under our “garage”, but what survived (albeit soggy and drooping) was tenderly placed on the wood blocks that are the footings for our landing gear (I love that it sounds like we’re in Star Wars!). Aaron slipped in it twice on his way to the garage the last two days. Every morning after rain showers the kids looked forlornly at the newly scattered pieces of their beloved creations. But unbeknownst to us, our delightfully creative and possessive children believed in their hearts that their slimy pottery would be part of their lives forever. Image the scene of disbelief - nay, horror - upon their discovery of a cleanup operation directed under the camper. There was screaming, tears - tantrums close to 2-year-old levels from all three children when we told them that God had put the mud on the Mississippi and we needed to leave God’s creation where He had put it and not in our home. All three were sent to have some quiet time in their beds to calm down.

But none was more heartbroken than Nora. Nora who cried her heart out and told me that she was sorry, but that she could not leave the banks of the mighty Mississippi here in Louisiana if it meant she had to leave her mud. She worked herself up to such state that she thought she was going to throw up (maybe it was just too many beignets??). And so, as she sat on the potty, she asked me to come in, and with tears in her beautiful brown eyes told me that I needed to pray to God for Him to find a way for this to end well for her and her mud, that the mud needed to stay in ziplock bags in her only toy drawer. I was trying hard not to laugh, because for her this was catastrophic. I suggested she pray and she agreed. So from the toilet came the most sincere prayer I have heard in a long time. Gasping my hands a bowing her head, she prayed.

“Dear Jesus, please bless that we can find a solution to keep the mud with us. That mommy and daddy will find a way to help us with our pottery.” I gently told her that sometimes God answered prayers differently than we expect, but that He always answers and cares for his creation. What could I do? That sweet prayer and heartfelt words moved my soul more than any screaming, crying or angry outbursts could (I wonder if the neighbors think we’re abusing our children??). As I spoke with Aaron quietly outside, we agreed that a small handful of mud in a ziplock sandwich bag in the outdoor kitchen cabinet would be an acceptable solution for the children.

So we packed up mud in baggies marked, “H,” “B,” and “N.” And God smiled on all of us.

(This is the cleaned up area of the incident)