Operation Duck Cabana

While I was off in Texas, wrapped in the sweet, familiar arms of Papa John, spoiled silly with long drives, longer talks, and more “ohhh cow!” moments than I can count, something beautiful was unfolding back home

Ashlin and Jon, in true True North fashion, had taken a passing dream and spun it into something real. You know the kind of dream that starts with, “Wouldn’t it be sweet if the ducks had a little shady nook? Maybe a pond?” Said in that soft, dreaming-out-loud way while pulling weeds.

And around here? If Grams dreams it, Ashlin makes it happen. No hesitation. No half-stepping. She moves like someone who’s got a divine appointment with possibility. She hears that wish, tucks it behind her ear like a wildflower, and gets to work.But dreams don’t stay small around here. Not for long. Especially not when Ashlin gets that spark in her eye. The one that says we're doing this, whether or not a single blueprint exists. And Jon? Well, Jon hears the song beneath her whirlwind. Even when her plans sound like something a raccoon on espresso might’ve scribbled, he sits down at his computer, draws it out, and starts making it real. So while I was down South making memories, they launched Operation Duck Cabana. 

Now, let’s be honest, plenty of folks would’ve grabbed a few boards, stapled some wire, and called it good. But Ashlin and Jon? They’re not plenty of folks. They have this way of taking the practical and making it extraordinary. Under their hands, even a simple duck shelter becomes a HGTV episode. What rose from the dirt wasn’t just shelter, it was sanctuary. A shaded place for baby ducklings to wobble about, a pond framed like a little secret garden. The kind of space that makes you want to sit barefoot nearby and just… be.

Of course, no family project around here is complete without at least one close call and a ridiculous amount of laughter. Midway through, Ashlin got smacked in the face by rogue fencing wire, it snapped back like it had a grudge. She barely blinked. Just tucked her hair behind her ears and kept going, grit in her spine. Then came the nail gun incident, where she almost tagged Jon’s one and only hand with a projectile nail of love and poor aim. There was a moment of shared panic, then laughter. And then she handed over the tool with a sheepish grin and a “maybe you should do that part.” But Jon, sweet, steady Jon, he kept building. With the quiet patience of a man who knows that love is sometimes spelled in screws and sweat. A man who doesn’t just put up with Ashlin’s chaos and wild dreams. He builds it a foundation, a frame, and a roof. He listens to her dreams and translates them into something you can walk inside.

And Ashlin? She is fire and color and vision. She sees beauty where most folks just see chores. She throws herself headfirst into creation, fueled by stubbornness, caffeine, and love. If it’s broken, she fixes it. If it doesn’t exist yet, she makes it. Her hands may be blistered, but her heart is wide open. There is nothing this girl cannot do. I don't think we could handle True North without her.

And speaking of babies! Ember, our ever-dramatic mama duck, has been brooding over her eggs like she’s starring in a poultry soap opera. She paces! She side-eyes! She mutters! She huffs! She Hisses! And you can just tell, she is counting down the minutes until those eggs hatch and she can hand off every one of her fluffy children to Duck Duck. Her plan? Relax in the shade, sip metaphorical duck margaritas, and make him do the swim lessons. Honestly? Mad Respect. 

When the last nail was in and the tools were put away, Duck Duck waddled over like he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment. He plopped down in the water like he; had been waiting for this moment his whole life. If he could’ve held up a sign that said “Five stars, would lounge again,” he would’ve.

I sat there quietly that evening, just watching. Watching Duck Duck claim his throne. Watching Grams’ eyes light up like the Fourth of July. Trying to lure out Ember, instead she fluffed her feathers and mutter about parental leave. Watching the way love leaves traces, in sawdust, in laughter, in half-bent nails and perfectly measured planks. Because this wasn’t just about a duck cabana. It never is. Around here, everything we build holds more than weight. It holds meaning. It carries the fingerprints of the people who dreamed it, built it, bled and laughed through it. It carries the quiet hope that these stories, these silly, sacred stories, will be told around campfires for generations.

So here’s to Duck Duck’s new digs. Here’s to Ember’s well-earned vacation. Here’s to dreams that don’t stay dreams for long. And here’s to the kind of love that builds something beautiful… even when the nail gun nearly takes someone out.

Just when we thought the story had already written its happy ending... Ember’s ducklings hatched. Tiny, wobbly, fuzzy miracles, blinking into the light and peeping like tiny trumpets of joy. Duck Duck is becoming very attentive to the humans and looking very much like a dad who just realized his life is about to get very loud.

But oh, the sweetness of it all. The timing. The care.
The way love waited until the home was ready… and then the new life began.

With love and muddy boots,
Michelle (aka Gigi)
Keeper of stories, watcher of ducklings, proud witness to dreams come true