When I was younger we would drive the family vehicle (at first a navy blue Jeep Cherokee, then a white Ford F350, then a beige Chevrolet Suburban, then another white Ford F350) down to the county fairgrounds in the early afternoon of July 4th. My dad would ensure we had the best possible parking spot for viewing before pushing play on the Phil Driscoll cassette tape of patriotic tunes. For hours we would wait, listening to God Bless America on repeat, until the sun finally set behind the snow capped mountains of Central Oregon. And then again we sat, in complete awe, as the sky erupted into colors and designs of sheer beauty. I know I was small and my knowledge of freedom was limited, but I remember feeling lucky to live in a place that had such beautiful fireworks.
Today it’s been nice to be home again on the fourth of July. Instead of driving down to the local fairgrounds I met up with my parents on a quick camping trip in the mountains. While we will most likely miss the stunning fireworks that once caught my six year old heart (and being completely honest I’d likely get annoyed if my dad tried to play any Phil Driscoll), I’m still feeling extra lucky to live in a place that has such beautiful people, places, and freedoms.
Happy Fourth of July, Friends. Michelle