4th of July, 2008

I wanted to blog about my hiking experience on Friday, but because I am currently dependent upon other people's cameras, I don't yet have pictures. And while I can still write about the hiking trip, it's not going to be the same without the pictures. Especially the pictures of the carnivorous plants. You'll just have to wait for that one (but hopefully I have you curious enough to keep coming back).

So instead I'm going to write about the second half of my 4th of July day. Or at least the part of the second half of the day that I chose to miss after I enjoyed hiking and barbecuing and chatting with friends and getting splashed multiple times by the eight-person cannonball, and was content and ready to go home for an evening to myself. What I chose to miss was the fireworks, because honestly, fireworks have never really been my favorite part of the 4th of July.

This goes way back, really. I have vivid memories of sitting on a blanket on the grass in Colorado one 4th of July when I was 5 or 6 years old, with my eyes closed and my hands held firmly over my ears, just waiting for the show to end so that I could stop being scared. And if you think about fireworks from the perspective of a 5-year-old (which many parents unfortunately do not when they drag their 5-year-olds to fireworks shows) they are, frankly, terrifying. There's the noise, for one thing, which is not dissimilar to the noise of a squirrel exploding, a memory that must have been all too fresh in my mind at the time. And if the noise doesn't terrify you, all the fireworks look like they're going to fall on you. It takes a lot of faith to believe that the little flames will die out before they actually reach the grass where you are sitting. And it really taxes a 5-year-old's faith to continue to believe that several dozen times in a row with no reprieve. Especially when the adjacent field bursts into flames (which is exactly what happened that year).

I'm not afraid of fireworks anymore, and have not been for a very, very long time. But fireworks really have not been a part of my 4th of July for most of my adult life. In Provo I would usually go up to my grandma's for a family gathering. There would be sparklers and cousins and trooper cake, but my grandma would shoo me home before too late so that I wouldn't fall asleep at the wheel on the hour drive back. And so I would enjoy (noiseless) fireworks only in the distance over Utah Valley as I made my way back to my apartment. I never really felt like I was missing out.

In my opinion, fireworks are best experienced as part of something else. There are very strict rules about fireworks in California, given that the 4th of July happens to fall right smack in the middle of the season when California spontaneously combusts on an annual basis. There aren't a lot of options outside of controlled environments like Dodgers Stadium or the Hollywood Bowl, and I was a little shocked the first summer I spent in Utah to see fireworks stands selling explosive devices to ordinary, untrained citizens. In the grocery store parking lot no less. (I heard on the radio on Saturday about all sorts of creative fireworks injuries, like the guy who thought it was a good idea to put poppers between each of his toes...I'm sure it sounded like great fun at the time.) Most of the fireworks I experienced as a child and teenager were attached to a baseball game or a pops concert, and set off by trained professionals. I liked it that way, and in fact I still enjoy fireworks when they are a part of something else (like a Tigers game, or caroling in the town square at Greenfield Village). I just don't get all that excited about going to see fireworks for fireworks' sake. Fireworks are meant to enhance an experience, not to be an experience. 

Anyway, I still managed to enjoy my fireworks-less 4th of July, and I look forward to many more in years to come. Happy Independence Day everyone!