A Pennsylvania Fourth

Here’s this week’s reflection. I hope it resonates with you and ask that, if you enjoyed, please comment and share on your social media. Heartfelt thanks for all your support!

Keeping the light on for you,

Carol

A hot breeze blows through the rolled down car windows as we carefully turn into the country driveway at the top of the hill. Passing the local gas company’s substation with it’s twisted nest of pipelines and meter boxes, I again wonder why one would live near such an ugly array. Once under the ancient shade tree canopy near the house the temperature drops to comfort level. Anticipatory fidgeting gives way to joyful release as my brothers and I sprint past ice-filled barrels of pop bottles toward the wiffle ball game beyond the parked cars. We’ve looked forward to this day all year long – the annual 4th of July picnic at my Great Aunt & Uncle’s place.

The older generations sit, catch up, reminisce, and gossip a little. Four generations are here and we kids have no clue how wonderful this is. We scramble around tables laden with the homemade buffet of waxed paper wrapped sandwiches, mountains of potato and other salads, and an endless variety of other options waiting to be washed down with an ice cold orange or grape soda from the barrel by the basement door. If we’re lucky we can go with Aunt M or Uncle L down to the basement to fetch more soda. The basement is cool and dim with a dirt floor and rock foundation, lit only by a few naked lightbulbs. I love the reprieve from the heat of the afternoon. I also love the pairing of earth and laundry soap aromas. This smell of history and countless loads of ringer-washed laundry is oddly comforting to a 7 year-old.

The dessert table – my particular weakness – is an overwhelming smorgasbord of homemade treats. The decision of where to start is our only conundrum today. We hurry sparsely through the healthier stuff to get to the Holy Grail. Famished from the ball games, tag, and obligatory socializing with relatives means it’s a mad dash to that last table. It’s the one day of the summer where we can gorge on too many sweets with full parental blessing.

The celebration begins around noon and lasts well into the night. As the elders package up leftovers and put food away us kids gather blankets for the annual color explosion in the sky. We take our front row seats on the hill overlooking the river. My dad sits next to me and again this year tells me with a smile “I bought all these fireworks for you, honey!” I smile up at him and believe every word. It’s my birthday, after all.

The yearly display doesn’t disappoint. The “OOHS!” and “AHHHS” are mockingly staged by the young adults but echoed by us smaller folk. The beautiful display is immediately in front of us, larger than life and in breathtaking color. It’s all surreal to this wide-eyed little girl on a hill. It lasts forever, or at least until the sugar wears off and fatigue sets in. The display ends, the mosquitoes vie for our attention, and coolers are repacked. After hugs are exchanged we kids sadly get back in the car for the short ride home. Another year will pass. We know not all the elders will be there next year. The bittersweet reality of life’s fragility will forever alter the guest list but, thankfully, gratefully, not the memories.

Carol