Independence Day is one of my favorite holidays. Isn't it for most of us? Our founding fathers conveniently declared their independence in the middle of summer, so we can celebrate outdoors with picnics and barbecues and, of course, fireworks. It just wouldn't be the same if Independence Day was in, say January or March. And in the fall it would have to compete with Halloween and Thanksgiving. So it's nice that it falls in July, which means "The 4th of July" holiday has a whole month all to itself.I spent many of my childhood July 4ths in Kennett, MO, my parents' hometown. My dad was in the military. Moving around as we did, we seldom saw our grandparents, cousins, or other relatives. My dad would plan his leave time for a couple of weeks in the summer and the week between Christmas and New Year's. We usually spent those weeks with our relatives in Kennett. In the summer, we typically arrived a couple of days or so before the 4th and stayed at my grandmother's house. My cousins (this is my mom's side of the family) lived two streets over, and various aunts and uncles lived either across the street or around the corner. At this point, I should explain that Kennett is the county seat of Dunklin County in the "boot heel" (not "boot hill") of Missouri. For those unfamiliar with this part of the country, the inhabitants have much more in common with their neighbors in Arkansas or Tennessee than they do with the rest of their own state. To borrow from one southern state's tourist slogan, "It's a whole other country." I don't think "Kennetians" (as my sister and I used to refer to them) even consider themselves Midwesterners; they definitely identify more with Southerners. Just ask Sheryl Crow -- she grew up there. (Note to readers: NO, I don't know Sheryl; I didn't grow up in Kennett. But my cousins did; they knew her in high school. My parents know her parents, and that's as close to her inner circle as I get).
Anyway, the 4th of July shindig would take place mostly on Grandma Anita's driveway. She had a table set up under the carport for the food, and Uncle Ted usually brought a cooler the size of a small boat stocked with sodas (not "pop" -- remember, this is the South, not the Midwest!) and beer. The aunts brought the side dishes, usually sliced tomatoes from the garden, corn-on-the-cob, and potato salad. Now, in the spirit of the day, I want to -- once and for all -- declare my independence from potato salad. I hate potato salad! All potato salad! I don't even like my mother's! (Sorry, Mom!). It's nothing personal -- I just don't care for potatoes smothered in mayonnaise. I prefer my potatoes baked, roasted, french-fried, and -- very occasionally -- au gratin or mashed (but only at Thanksgiving). I have tried numerous times to convey my preferences to various family members (mine and my husband's), but it seems to have fallen on deaf ears. Certain family members (who shall remain nameless) still express incredulity if not complete shock when they pass me the potato salad and I just keep passing it. Listen, people, some of you don't like tomatoes -- which happens to be one of my favorite foods -- but I'm certainly not going to ridicule you for only eating tomatoes in the sauce on your pizza! So can we retire the potato salad issue now?
Back to 4th of July in Kennett -- after dinner, the "old folks" (well, to a 9-year-old, they seemed old) would sit in the lawn chairs with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other while the kids played badminton in the yard. As soon as it was dark enough, my dad and Uncle Ted would take the empty soda bottles (Grape, Orange, and Strawberry Ne-Hi!), set them up on the end of the driveway, and light bottle rockets in them. My mom and Aunt Kay would light sparklers and hand them to us kids. Now, at the time, it was pretty cool, but now that I'm a parent myself . . . what in the HELL were they thinking??? There we were, little kids standing there with a burning sparkler in each hand and our dads firing off bottle rockets just a few feet away. Not to mention the fact that some of those bottle rockets landed on the grass, not the street! Of course, Uncle Ted was ready with the garden hose. And Grandma Anita had the phone number for the fire department posted by the phone inside the house. And what if one of us kids had been burned by a sparkler? "Well, go stick your hand in the ice down in the cooler, Silly!" Geez, we're so spoiled now. Our parents took things in stride and kept the first aid kit handy, just in case.
Most of my adult July 4th celebrations have been spent watching organized fireworks displays (although I'm married to a closet pyro, who seems to have passed the fireworks gene on to our son). And one year, Steve and I played a wedding on July 4th: the infamous "Farm Pond" wedding. The wedding took place at 5:00 in the afternoon on a farm outside of Gardner, KS. Our quartet had been hired to play the ceremony. The ceremony was to be on an "island" in a "lake" on the property. The couple would cross a bridge connecting the "island" to the "mainland"; they would say their vows under a specially-built archway on the island. How romantic. We asked, since the wedding was outdoors, if there was a contingency plan for rain. "Oh, never say 'rain'!" the bride cheerfully assured us. Okay, then, how about heat?
Because, folks, it was HOT. Allow me to set the scene: It's 5:00 pm on July 4th. The temperature is 96 degrees . . . in the shade. Did I say shade? What shade? There was no shade! When we arrived, we parked near the house, then walked down a dirt road, instruments and music stands in hand, to a spot on the drive facing the "lake." Which wasn't actually a lake, but a small, scum-covered farm pond. There was a makeshift bridge leading to the "island,"or, more accurately, a mound of dirt sitting in the middle of the pond. But there was, indeed, a lovely archway decorated with flowers on the "island." Oh, and did I mention that we were wearing (as per the bride's request) formal black attire? As in long black dresses for the ladies and tuxes for the men. The guests, by the way, were dressed in shorts, t-shirts, and tank tops. Oh, and they had hats, visors, and beach umbrellas. Our formal-black-clad quartet was seated in four folding chairs on a dirt road under the blazing sun.
We began playing the processional. Now, the bride had informed us that the wedding party would arrive at the ceremony by horse-drawn carriage. What she failed to mention was they would be arriving one at a time! And the carriage had to return to the house to pick up each individual member of the party. Don't ask me how many attendants there were -- all I remember is it took 45 minutes for the wedding party to arrive at the farm pond. After the ceremony, we were invited to stay for the reception (also outdoors, under a tent). We declined. It's really hard to work up an appetite when you're suffering from heat exhaustion. Steve and I returned instead to our apartment, peeled off our sweaty black clothes, cranked up the A/C, and lay down on the bed . . . where we slept through the fireworks display we had planned to attend.
This year Steve will spend his 4th of July conducting High School Musical at The Theatre In The Park. No fireworks, though -- the city had to cut costs this year. Greg has to work and probably won't get to leave until after the Olathe display is over with. Since I'm on my own tonight, maybe I'll take in a movie or watch the "Capital Fourth" broadcast on PBS. But we'll still have barbecued chicken and corn-on-the-cob, tomato slices, and strawberry shortcake. No strawberry Ne-Hi, though. And, mercifully, no potato salad!
Happy 4th!
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