Happy 4th of July. For the first 32 years of my life, I would be found on this day in a redneck logging town in the middle of the Olympic Peninsula: Old-Fashioned Parade complete with Beaver Jack, an endless string of log trucks (there's a prize for best load, don't you know), all the princesses from the neighboring towns--Hoquiam, Sekiu, Neah Bay; Demo Derby where some really beautiful paint jobs are destroyed; a rather humble fireworks display, sometimes viewed from behind a windshield with wipers going... Fireworks were always bought on the Res, even if we usually didn't buy the illegal ones, and set off in the field behind the house.
La Push or Mora, the Hoh, Bogie burgers, Lake Crescent, the dirt road connecting my family's houses, the pasture and the creek, my childhood, my roots, I guess you could say. I spent whole summers there, and as an adult I'd go up for a week or two, around the 4th, do some camping on the coast or on Lake Quinault, spend the big day in town doing what everyone did.
I lost that connection in 2002 and am never sure what to do with this day. Of course, there are similar activities here, and a fireworks display much more elaborate than a podunk town could ever hope to afford, but outside of the context of my childhood home it's just...I don't know, what is it? Not worth the bother, really. This year, I'm going to celebrate my indepence by staying away from the throng. But never fear, I've got some low-key plans for the evening--some traditions are mobile afterall. Lite fuse, run away.