Home on the 4th of July

A Farm Outside of Hillsboro, Kansas---Today is the Fourth of July. I think back to only three years ago when I spent this day alone on the island of Paros, Greece. No one in the Med cares. It was a busy balmy night as I walked around this island’s outdoor cafes and shops that were open and eager for any tourist euro. The sailboat I was crewing on had family fly in so I took a hotel on this island for a week to give them the space. Now here I was a lone American, missing the idea of a night of fireworks and seeing the variations of patriotic clothing the NASCAR crowd adorns this time of year where I live in Daytona Beach, Florida. I felt so far away that night. I was a long way from home.

But today, my Hyundai kicked up a billowing cloud of white dust behind it as I motored down the country road.  I pulled off the road with my vehicle now covered with the fine powder, to a farm house in the middle of…well, not much.  
 
 
 

At this farm was a gathering of several generations of a special family, childhood friends that I had grown up with in the nearby town of Newton. If I was to describe the heart and soul of the Kansas Midwest family, they would be one of my examples.

And this was a perfect evening for an old fashioned, laid back Fourth of July celebration.

Long tables and chairs were set up outside on a grassy area shaded by huge trees and overlooking several grain buildings, the stubble of a harvested field of wheat and several soy fields. After the meal known there as supper, the awaited moment arrived when the freshly churned homemade ice cream was brought out and everyone dug in, complete with homemade chocolate syrup.
After supper, a line of chairs was set up next to a silo, facing a cement slab perfect for ground zero of most of the show. Anxious to get to the fireworks, oodles of kids ran back and forth between parents getting the basics out first and gradually working their way to the heavier backyard variety.  Older kids took the larger fireworks with the smaller kids begging for the opportunity to try the good stuff.

 

The line of chairs, now occupied by the adults, served as the audience and everyone clapped wholeheartedly when things were good and outwardly criticized the make and model when a short term fizzle was all there was. “The Frog Prince” was my favorite and gave an amazing display of a variety of shooting sparks. Unfortunately I needed to leave before the grand finale: “The Bad Mother in Law” could be exploded.



Under water fire cracker!

The brother, whose farm it was, had set things up so there was a stock tank full of water and two awaiting buckets full of water standing by…which did come in handy a couple of times.  Having a perfectly good empty silo to explode things and sent rockets up was an opportunity that the older kids creatively took advantage of.

No, the fireworks did not shoot thousands of feet in the air nor was there a planned succession of order. It was the old fashioned “who goes next” back yard scurry of pops and booms, flashes and sparkles with kids, friends and parents all taking part in one way or the other. It felt very Midwest. And beyond the booms and bangs my heart was calm and peaceful.

I said goodbye and left to drive to my next friend-stay-over. As I drove, I was overwhelmed at the sight of the entire landscape exploding with color everywhere I looked. I could see across the country fields at other farm houses that were doing the same thing. Nearing my hometown, I scanned the horizon full of color.

It’s the 4^th of July and I am home.