Our summer begins in
July—almost always. I know that in other areas of the country, Memorial Day is
the kick-off for summer, but in the Pacific Northwest, it’s the Fourth of July.
When I was growing up—back in the
seventies—we weren’t rich. We struggled. But my parents always found enough
money to buy a basic box of fireworks. Sparklers, Snakes, a couple of Whistling
Petes, and sometimes some sort of exploding cone.
We weren’t allowed to set them off
before the Fourth. That was the rule and no matter how much we begged, my
parents didn’t give in.
So, on the fourth, we’d begin the
festivities with a family picnic which included my grandparents and Aunt Marge—who
we were sandwiched between—and my grandmother’s sister, Aunt Peg, my
great-grandfather, and my cousins, Mark and Mike, if they were in town.
Aunt Marge had this great day room
that held a table big enough for all of us and opened up onto the patio. She
had green Adirondack chairs and a bench swing on her patio. And a crumbling
fireplace barbeque that we roasted marshmallows in. Dad would make his potato salad—crunchy
awesomeness—and his fried chicken—man, do I miss my dad’s cooking. Grandma
usually brought a ham and Aunt Marge, chocolate cake. Nobody really liked
whatever Aunt Peg brought and Grandpa Joe got a pass.
After the eating was done, we’d have
water fights and play games until dusk when the real fun began. Yep. The
fireworks.
We’d go down to our yard and everyone would stand away as Dad did
the honors to my mom’s cries of, “Be careful, Jim.” Sometimes Grandpa would
surprise us with extra fireworks that he bought for us.
Then after our small stash was depleted,
we’d troop down to Grandma and Grandpa’s and climb up to their roof to wait for
the Fort Vancouver Fireworks to begin at nightfall—around ten o’clock. Sitting
on their house, we could see forever. At least until they tore down the filbert
grove and started building houses—two story houses.
Here’s the thing about the Fort
Vancouver Fireworks—for years, it was the one thing that made our community
special.
Living in the shadow of Portland,
Oregon, isn’t the easiest place to be. We in the couve, sometimes resent the
overshadow—like when Mt. St. Helens blew and the national news interviewed
people from Portland. Really??? And now that I reread that, I sound as if we’re
all about blowing stuff up. Even our natural catastrophes.
But the Fort fireworks are ours.
There have been years that up to 100k people—including Portlanders—have shown
up, traipsed through the park, found a place to throw a blanket and settled in
for the biggest firework display west of the Mississippi—bragging rights,
there.
There’s live music, food, games, tours of the Fort, and people galore—friends
you haven’t seen in years.
I don’t know if it’s still the biggest firework
display west of the Mississippi—the economy tanked and almost shut it down a
few years ago—but it’s still the biggest event in Vancouver.
And it’s a hot summer night.
Happy Fourth to everyone. May your day be filled with love, laughter, and merriment. May your night skies be clear and fireworks plenty. Above all else, be safe and happy!
What a great post-I love the pictures, too!
ReplyDeleteWow. That is all. Just wow.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Girls!!
ReplyDeleteYou have some great fourth memories. Do you guys keep some of your earlier traditions?
ReplyDeleteSadly, no. We used to. But the past few years--since I started with Wag, I've had to work every fourth. And now, my mom's got a new a beau, my sisters both did things with friends as did my oldest. Jordan has overly sensitive hearing, so she just stays indoors with headphones on and Mike watched baseball--that's his tradition ;)
ReplyDeleteBut I had quite the show as I was driving home last night. My new store is a good twenty minute drive and it was at the peak firework hour so I saw lots with no investment on my part :)