Memories of Past Independence

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NEW PROMPT:
Keeping with the celebration of American Independence, write a STORY or POEM that includes ALL of the following words or phrases in any order you wish, but exactly as they appear below:
fireworks-parade-hot dogs-apple pie-red, white, and blue-flag
Bold WritingML removed afterwards.
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While writing this, my mind went back to holidays in a New England town where I grew up. Christmas, Halloween, and the Fourth of July were special days celebrated in one way or another by the whole town. Since this is Independence Day in the U.S.A., my current memories reflect the feeling of independence and freedom many of us had back in the 1950’s.

Every year just before the noon hour, one of our small town’s three annual parades brought out everyone to watch. The Fourth’s parade far outshone the more reserved one on Memorial Day, and we didn’t have to go to the three cemeteries either. For children, that was a definite plus! All we did was stand on the common’s freshly mowed grass and watch the short but enthusiastic parade circle the large area in the center of town. Everywhere proudly flew the red, white, and blue of our national flag held in a child’s tiny and soft hand or the adult’s hand, more callused from hard work.

Boy and Girl Scouts, Brownies, and 4H members joined older Veterans of Foreign Wars in this parade. The pace was slow, set by very young children riding their decorated tricycles around the common. Here and there, a homemade and often garishly designed float trundled by, the people on it grinning back at the applauding crowd of neighbors and family.

After the parade ended, out would come the food, another staple of the holiday back then and now wherever people gathered to celebrate. Women who had been baking for days carefully placed their pies, cakes, and other delicacies on makeshift tables in the middle of the common. Mum always brought her apple pie since it was a favorite at church suppers throughout the year. She always served this delicious pie with sharp cheddar cheese, and even today I can almost taste that delicious treat. Questions like, “Tudie, how do you get the pie to rise so high without the apples melting down?” or “Mrs. Wheeler, can I have your recipe?” would only elicit a smile from Mum for she refused to share her culinary tips.

Bowls of potato salad, platters of sandwiches, and other cold foods were on other tables attracting the many impatient children. Meanwhile, the men congregated around the big outdoor fireplace where the smell of grilled hamburgers and hot dogs eventually pulled the children away from the tables.

For the rest of the lazy afternoon, friendly conversation and good food prevailed to make this holiday and its traditions special to everyone in town. Ice tea and frosty lemonade soothed parched throats, while thirsty children lined up by the ancient water fountain at the edge of the common. No expensive bottled water ever tasted as good as that coming the long distance from Quabbin Reservoir to quench our thirst on those hot July days.

Softball teams would pit themselves against each other to the noisy delight of the children. Off to one side of the common, horseshoes clunked against the metal pole while participants waged on who would win the game. A croquet set, brought and watched over by its worried owner, set friend against friend with much cheerful (and overlooked) cheating. On the far edge of the common, the town’s volunteer firemen soaked onlookers during their fire hose races. Since the day usually was warm by midafternoon, these races attracted many of us wanting to cool off. The luxurious feeling of nearby wet grass under our bare feet turned the day’s accumulation of dirt to mud. I love mud!

When dusk came, it was nearly time for the big event we all were looking forward to, fireworks! In the years before nervous town elders regulated fireworks, the adults would put on spontaneous displays to amuse their children. I can remember Dad handing me lit and spitting sparklers and wishing they lasted more than a few scant seconds.

There was a long spit of land down between Lake Wickaboag and the swamp. At the far end of this sandy beach, two or three men in charge set up the hundreds of fireworks. At the other end, hundreds of us congregated and either remained on the beach or found seats on the grass on the small hill nearby.

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Slowly, the sun started to disappear over the tranquil Lake Wickaboag, and our excitement of what was to come grew stronger minute by minute.

When we children were almost in a frenzy of excitement, BOOM. The first pinwheel appeared in the sky. The thunder and whistling of the colorful and varied fireworks had some of the adults covering their ears, but wide grins gave away their enjoyment. As more and more fireworks burst into the sky, the resulting smoke drifted toward the crowd. I think the smell is what I miss most when I see fireworks on television.

For half an hour or so, a fairyland of bright, colorful lights transformed the sky over Lake Wickaboag. Finally, the traditional ending would arrive, all too soon for the children and thankfully for the exhausted adults. One after another in a mad, almost earthshaking crescendo, all the dozens of remaining fireworks rose into the air as fast as the men could light them. For a few dazzling minutes, the night turned into day until with one last bang and dripping light, the annual Fourth of July celebration for our small New England town came to a close

Slowly and rather reluctantly, we children followed our parents as we trooped back up the hill away from the lake. At that point, we started counting the days until the next holiday the town celebrated, Halloween and the third parade the town put on for years.

That, though, is another story I’ll write some time in the future.

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Microsoft Word count = 963

"The Writer's Cramp - Poetry Week!"  daily contest winner for 07/05/08
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