4th of July - tell us more!

I have the greatest respect for sozobe, msolga. But johnboy, who admits to be getting old and grumpy, wonders about this. The 4th of July used to mean something. But now it is sort of a nationwide equivalant of the Mardi Gras, with each community trying to outdo its neighbor for having the biggest and bestest fireworks display.
Most fireworks are banned in Virginia (the hospitals complained about the number of blown off fingers and burns) but they are still here, going off already. We are an independent bunch of folks in the US of A and we are going to do what we want to do. We are Americans.

And that is the attitude that has guided us for some 240 years. We are quite confident that we know what is best for the world.

Sorry for the rant on what I assume was meant to be a glib thread.

Back to the beer and bratwurst. (rjb hesitates before hitting ths submit button)

Ms. Olga--

Two little known facts about our Revolutionary War. One I've known for years--the other I learned today.

First: When the British were retreating from Lexington and Concord and the farmers were firing at them from behind stone walls, the farmers had an advantage. They had bought their own powder and shot and as thrifty New Englanders, they were going to make every bullet count.

The Redcoats had been trained to ready, aim, fire: Point in the general direction of the enemy and fire together. Furthermore, every time the sergeants yelled, "Fire", the farmers ducked behind the stone walls.

Second: the Declaration of Independence was printed on paper made from hemp--aka, pot.

OH! Take some photographs & post them, Angelique! Have fun & happy birthday to your sister.

Hey, is anyone going to post us photographs of their get-togethers? We'd all love to see them!: The fireworks, the kids, the roasting pig, the drunken rellies & most importantly, YOU! ... Go on, why don't you?

Good ol' new englanders. Of course, no one around here 200+ years ago would have wanted to be called a new englander

Thanks msolga

Yes, there is that worry, RJB. Actually, being anywhere near fireworks makes me very nervous! I like to watch them on TV!

And yes, I guess everyone will be celebrating in their own particular way. I can see that this day is something very special & quite a serious day for you, RJB.

I like that, Noddy: A revolutionary war!

Interesting facts, too. I'm learning a great deal today!

I went to a lovely annual holiday party given by friends out at their "farm", last evening for barbeque, four wheeling, a huge inflatable bouncy thing to play on, and pony rides for the kids. A large tent was set up to accomodate dining, complete with a DJ. After dark of course, was a small fireworks display.

This evening I attended a symphony Pops in the Park concert with a rousing fireworks finale. We dined on fried chicken, ribs and all the "fixins." Tomorrow I just get to enjoy a day off !

Ain't America grand?

Just caught up, Angelique. Thanks.

Fireworks

I have fragmentary, confused memories of what must have been July 4, 1946. WW II was over and the Methodist Church was making a great effort to recreate the community picnics of pre-war years.

My mother and my grandmother were both managing sorts of women. My grandmother was the Methodist--although my father had left the church years ago. My mother was not Methodist and not fond of being bullied in the Name of the Lord.

I'm sure this conflict is one reason my memories are fragmented.

My parents, my brother and sister and I drove--in Our Own Car, arriving at about 11 am. The car was one of the first of the post-war assembly lines. My Grandmother, Aunt, married-in-Uncle and cousin arrived in Grandmother's car much earlier than we did. They arrived at 8 am to attend the kick off Prayer Meeting and Memorial Service.

Conflict.

The Picnic Grove was dusty--very dusty--and next door to a dairy farm. I can remember looking through the fence at the brown and white cows. The picnic tables were full of splinters, but everyone who was anyone had a tablecloth. My mother had two tablecloths--one to cover the table and one to cover the food. My grandmother didn't think that a few flies would hurt anyone.

Conflict.

My mother's chicken was baked. My grandmother's chicken was fried. My father liked fried chicken. My mother didn't like flies. We children weren't allowed to eat my grandmother's unrefrigerated potato salad--or the fried chicken.

Conflict.

Lunch was to start at noon, but there were prayers before lunch--very long prayers. I was six, my sister was 5 and my brother was three. There were three Methodist churches in town and each of the three ministers offered up a devout and long winded prayer. Then my uncle offered up a personal prayer before we could eat.

Mother let my brother nibble during the prayers.

Conflict.

After prayers and lunch from my mother's basket (no flies) and what was supposed to be a community desert buffet--limited by my mother to the No Fly tables, there were speeches.

We didn't have to listen to the speeches, but were allowed to watch the cows and the flies. The cows were fascinating for a child of early suburbia. We were not allowed to play catch and holler during the speeches.

After the speeches, glory of glory there was a brass band. I gather from later adult glosses on their performance that it was not a terribly good brass band, but it was my first experience with live music and I adored the wonderful noise.

There must have been more conflict because we left while the band was still playing,well before sunset, well before the fireworks.

I understand from later adult glosses that some of the fireworks misfired into the crowd, but no one was injured. My grandmother claimed the protection of Providence. My mother was glad her children had not been withint range of damn fools with gunpowder.

According to the last A2K post it's a little after 11 pm on the 3rd of July in your neck of the words. So some of you celebrate ALL the weekend? There must be some very bleary eyes on the first day back at work, then?

I remember running around the backyard, half naked (in summer we were allowed to go "bare-foot & bare-belly" when we were just liddlies) with the grass so cool on my feet, and a sparkler in my hand, while my grandfather carefully set off bottle rockets and roman candles, which he aimed toward the big field of clover behind the garden. The clover would alway stay moist even in dry times, so no fire hazard--i didn't know that then, i only enjoyed the display. You could see bottle-rockets and roman candles from other backyards. It was glorious and carefree--and oh so fleeting . . .

OK, I've been sitting here in my computer far longer than I'd expected to - enjoying your stories & getting educated about Independence Day.
Time for me to get dressed & finally venture out after 3 days.
I hope there are even more stories to read when I next log on. Some photographs, even?

Ms Olga--

Unlike Memorial Day and Veteran's Day, the Fourth of July escaped being a Nixon Monday. He thought about making the Independence Day a movable feast, but was persuaded that it wouldn't fly.

Would it be better if the earlier colonialists had not decided to become independent, and America was still a British colony, or nowadays a Dominion like your northern neighbours?

Has the experiment failed?

You consider it an experiment? That implies you had some element of choice in the matter, McTag.

Thanks, MsOlga, for letting us talk about this crazy day.

I have celebrated the Fourth of July on the same saltwater bay since I was eleven. I don't really remember any major celebrations before that but from then on my parents had large parties with loads of food -- BBQ'd chicken and potato salad nearly epitomizes the day for me -- It was also the day when the last of the frozen blackberries would be used for pies. We'd also thaw out and drink apple cider that we'd pressed and frozen from the previous fall but we wouldn't necessarily finish the cider!

If you came to one of those celebrations, you could plan on boating and water-skiing and swimming even if it was really too cold (this is the Pacific NW, after all) and at dusk we'd set off fireworks towards the beach. The best holidays were those when the tide was high and the water lapped all the way up the bulkhead to the lawn. I remember a few times when derelict boats were anchored and used for target practice. In the mornings after, the beach was a mess of burnt out fireworks shells. It was yet another beach chores to spend hours raking up all the debris.

"Safe and Sane" Fireworks, ie. those that might burn you but would not blow off your foot, could be bought for small change. The real fireworks were available (and still are) on the nearby Indian reservations. Aside: They do a rousing business. It may be their second best business after gambling. They sell fireworks that come directly from Asia and don't have to pass state regulations. My favorites, besides the large and expensive starbursts, are the long strips of small firecrackers that go on and on (and on and on). Heeheeeeee.

We hardly ever buy fireworks anymore as the number of people on the bay has increased over the years and some of these neighbors spend hundreds maybe even thousands of dollars to impress their guests. All we have to do is sit on our lawn and occasionally cheer.

So, that's it: Food and Fireworks. As children, we'd be given small amounts of money to buy fireworks. Dad, of course, bought his own fireworks and chose them after quiet consultations with the men behind the stands. One year we were each given a dollar to spend at the fireworks stand. I think I bought four boxes of sparklers. My brother probably bought several of the little wheeled vehicles that were supposed to roll and emit smoke and would sometimes do both. One little sister bought a vast number of "snakes" -- horrible ashy things that would grow out of small black tablets when they were set on fire. Her twin, however, bought a single Picolo Pete. We were shocked that she'd blow all her money on a single firework. (Even that word doesn't make sense.) The neighbors and the guest children were there, each of us with our carefully hoarded brown bag of gunpowder ready to set off. When it was our turn, we'd take our place with the dads at the edge of the bulkhead.

As was our way, we'd been cheering and calling out for each of the many fireworks were set off. When the Picolo Pete went off we were, I think, slightly dismayed at the short duration of the thrill but then my little sister piped up in her small reedy voice:

"WORTH a Dollar!!!!" with a huge emphasis on "worth."

That phrase has become a long-standing family joke which clearly expresses our feelings about the cost and expense of fireworks.


-- -- --
Here's somebody I've recently found out about. This man (a distant relation to Mr.P. and my children) is called the First Martyr of the American Revolution:

Certainly not. Your experiment, your choice. :wink: