Only in the country can you get a real “star-spangled” viewing of the 4th of July traditional fireworks. You have to plan ahead of course. The truck bed has to be filled with hay bales and bottles of bug spray, and then the kids can pile in the back with the adults cramming the cab. It’s also a good idea to start out with some light in the sky so you can get the lay of the land and can set up when you arrive. It’s planned just right if you arrive at dusk and the works start right when the stars will try to outdo them.
We took up 2 trucks packed from steering wheel to exhaust pipe with warm bodies, that were either anxious or laughing at the face of danger. In the flinthills of Marysville, KS, a person can hop in the big cab to jump over the gully washers, hug the hill by the edge of the cliff, and jostle to the top of the pasture. I don’t know that I would call it a “drive.” Drives have a road.
At the top, we threw out the bales, with the teen guys hanging off the trucks and the girls down in front on the bales. The adults had their own viewing section and laughter as well. From up there, you feel like you have a slice of grass roots (literally) Americana --Patchwork crop outlines, a single cell-tower, a distant herd, the local gypsum plant and over a million shining stars overhead. When the the fireworks started, I had this overwhelming urge to put my hand over my heart and burst out singing, “And the the rockets red glare, the bombs bursting in air, gave proof through the night, that our flag was still there...” (Which is a scary thought since I wasn’t invited up there for bad karaoke.) But being there for fireworks, just made me feel kind of, well, -- free. Like this is a country where people can own their own piece of untamed land and can use it for what they like. Like the feeling that this place in Kansas is so special that unsung men and women died to give the rest of us the right to live here to worship, to build a home and a lifestyle and a dream that is individual as each one of us Americans. I sang the National Anthem anyway, but quietly, so only my husband looked at me strangely. My hand was over my heart too, but thankfully, no one was looking at me, just the sky.
After we all went careening back down the “hill,” it was agreed that was one of the best firework shows we ever experienced. I don’t think it was about the actual fireworks though, but the influence of the special place far out in the high pasture where we watched them. It was declared that from now on, the top of the pasture would be the new traditional viewing site. “Yes!” I thought, “A great American tradition!” Ellen
We took up 2 trucks packed from steering wheel to exhaust pipe with warm bodies, that were either anxious or laughing at the face of danger. In the flinthills of Marysville, KS, a person can hop in the big cab to jump over the gully washers, hug the hill by the edge of the cliff, and jostle to the top of the pasture. I don’t know that I would call it a “drive.” Drives have a road.
At the top, we threw out the bales, with the teen guys hanging off the trucks and the girls down in front on the bales. The adults had their own viewing section and laughter as well. From up there, you feel like you have a slice of grass roots (literally) Americana --Patchwork crop outlines, a single cell-tower, a distant herd, the local gypsum plant and over a million shining stars overhead. When the the fireworks started, I had this overwhelming urge to put my hand over my heart and burst out singing, “And the the rockets red glare, the bombs bursting in air, gave proof through the night, that our flag was still there...” (Which is a scary thought since I wasn’t invited up there for bad karaoke.) But being there for fireworks, just made me feel kind of, well, -- free. Like this is a country where people can own their own piece of untamed land and can use it for what they like. Like the feeling that this place in Kansas is so special that unsung men and women died to give the rest of us the right to live here to worship, to build a home and a lifestyle and a dream that is individual as each one of us Americans. I sang the National Anthem anyway, but quietly, so only my husband looked at me strangely. My hand was over my heart too, but thankfully, no one was looking at me, just the sky.
After we all went careening back down the “hill,” it was agreed that was one of the best firework shows we ever experienced. I don’t think it was about the actual fireworks though, but the influence of the special place far out in the high pasture where we watched them. It was declared that from now on, the top of the pasture would be the new traditional viewing site. “Yes!” I thought, “A great American tradition!” Ellen
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