School would be out, the heat was nearly always sweltering, and trips were usually in order to the Columbia River so as to go swimming with the strains of Kenny Loggins on the radio.
I remember the 4th of July.
It was a time of celebration.
Standing at the fireworks stand on the side of the road with those few hard-earned dollars clutched my hand, the excitement; the anticipation of what I was going to purchase as row upon row of pyrotechnics were splayed out before me like sweets in Willy Wonka’s candy shop.
I remember blowing up cowpies with firecrackers. This was—by far—one of the greatest and little-known of pastimes for me and my longtime friend, Jess. We’d see how close we could get to the bovine pastry and still not get hit by shrapnel when the crater was blown from the varied meadow tarts we encountered. The fresher the better, and juicy was all about splatter.
Oh, those simple, carefree days of youth when the biggest worries were usually about who would get the grape popsicle and who had to have the orange one.
Happy Fourth, from Teachinfourth.
Sadly, I did not take any of these photos, they may all be viewed at their sources: