The 4th

Growing up we had some traditions about the Fourth of July.  It always involved family or friends, lots of food and fireworks.  Usually we went to Rice Field to see the fireworks display followed by a long traffic jam to get home.  I guess most Americans have some sort of similar traditions. 

Since marriage we have moved so much that we have rarely seen a fireworks display at the same location on two consecutive years.  Even though we have now been in the same house in Alabama for five years, we have yet to watch the fireworks at the same location as any of the other five years.  Our first year we drove to Dublin Park in the City of Madison (Huntsville's "St. Paul") along with Mike's family who had come to visit.  In 2007, just the four of us, drove all the way (30+ miles) to Point Mallard in Decatur, AL.  The next year we decided to stay a little closer, so we attended the display at the Bridge Street shopping complex.  We ran into several friends there. 

Last year in 2009 we drove the farthest (to not see any fireworks at all).  We went on our first and only family vacation (that did not consist of only visiting relatives).  We spent the 1st and 2nd of July in our country's capital, Washington, D. C. and the 3rd and 4th touring Gettysburg, PA, in a search for the place where Mike's great great grandfather fought.  Because the 4th fell on a Saturday, and we and our hosts (who live in a suburb of Baltimore) wanted to attend church in the morning before we headed back to Alabama, we decided not to travel into Baltimore or D.C. for the fireworks.  Our host wisely informed us that because of the traffic we would probably not arrive home until three o'clock in the morning.  Part of me regrets not going, but I would probably make the same decision again.  We barely made it home that Sunday night as it was.  It was an exhausting trip.

This year we had to make a decision as to where to go.  With Lainey being gone on a mission trip to NYC, there were just the three of us.  On Friday I bought a rack of spare ribs for my first try at cooking them, but as of Sunday after lunch, we still had not made a decision as to where to go.  As I was preparing to get them in the oven, we got a call from friends to join them.  So we packed up around 5:00pm and headed to Scottsboro, AL.  We met our friends, three of their five daughters, and two other girls who were friends of the two older daughters (their youngest is a friend of Moriah's) at a place called Goose Pond Colony.   While the name sounds scary, the place was actually a very nice marina/recreational complex on a peninsula into Lake Guntersville, a huge lake created by the TVA on the Tennessee River.

We do not usually pay any attention to the musical acts at the venues we attend, unless they have a big band or choir presenting patriotic tunes.  Neither of us care for secular rock or country music acts.  My main concern is finding the best place to take photos.  This turned out to be at the top of a cement amphitheater in full view of the bands who were setting up.  I was concerned about this, so I made sure we were in the far corner and not in direct line with the speakers.  Mike and Moriah are very sensitive to really loud noises.  It all turned out very well though.  The first band played folk music which we enjoyed.  The second was far enough away that it did not assault our ears too much.  We could not understand most of what they said because of poor sound quality.  The best part was when the band (from England) played Sweet Home Alabama.  I never thought I would hear that song done with an English accent.

An interesting thing happened.  When we chose our location, there was no one at all on the far corner of the amphitheater, but soon after we set up our five camping chairs, two large coolers and two large blankets for the girls, a large group of immigrants showed up trying to crowd in the corner behind us.  Mind you there wasn't any room for chairs and there was little room to stand.  There was plenty of other open spaces in the stands and on the grassy areas around the area.  I did my best to not listen to their conversations, so as not to ease drop and soon left to take photos of the two youngest girls down by the shore.  While I was gone, Mike stayed to keep an eye on things.  With nothing else to do he overheard several rude comments being made in their language, but did not react to it.  As I was returning, I had to ask some of the group to allow me to pass.  I made sure to do so very politely, but in their language, using my best pronuciation (I have been mistaken for a native speaker in the past).  Moments after I returned, the group disappeared for the rest of the evening.  Moral of the story:  NEVER assume that those around you cannot understand what you are saying.  Our words should always be carefully considered in all situations.

Our location did prove to be an excellent location for taking photos.  The amphitheater faced west over the lake.  A large flotilla of pleasure boats congregated on the waters between us and the mountain range beyond the lake.  The sight was simply gorgeous.  A family sat in front of us that included a father who was among the very first marines deployed on 9/11.  He is currently a national asset forest fire fighter.  We expressed our appreciation for his service to our country.  I was able to included their family in some of my fireworks photos.  He is wearing the cowboy hat.

To wrap this up, we thoroughly enjoyed our evening, even the one and a half hour wait for the line of the cars to even start moving after the fireworks (the folk band played more music, so we just stayed and listened until the cars started moving).  We did not get home until after midnight, but it was worth the trip.  I do not know how much longer any of us will be celebrating our freedom, but I was grateful to do it one more time.