Happy Independence Day!
Let Freedom Ring!
Our traditional 4th of July celebration is much like our neighbors, except we sub out beef burgers for veggie burgers, pork and beans for vegetarian baked beans and we add in sweet corn grown at our friend’s farm and delicious watermelon we always purchase at our town’s farmer’s market.
After, we indulge in the splendors of the grill, we venture down to our lake where we and our neighbors wait for night to fall. When the last of the golden hue of the day disappears and the night falls across the lake and the cicadas begin to sing, we fire off a spectacular light show of fireworks.
Because fireworks of all kinds are perfectly legal here, my husband and I are like teenagers, which amuses our son to no end. Growing up in Florida, we were always limited to sparklers and buzzing things, unless we, or our friends, scored a few bottle rockets or firecrackers. But this my friend, is the real deal. We have fireworks that go up and go BOOM, just like at Ft. Lauderdale Beach. Our neighbors also have the same type of arsenal. So a few Adirondack chairs, a few punks, a tall glass of green ice tea (or wine) and you enjoy the pleasure of the 4th of July, for free, in the comfort of your own backyard.
Prior, to the traditional festivities this evening, today was spent preparing seeds for our fall garden. This meant pulling the seed trays out from under the house and sitting down in the dirt and filling little tiny, peat pots, with soil and then dropping in tiny microscopic seeds. Oh yeah, and taking note to keep the little identity cards with the correct seeds because when it comes time to move them to the beds in a couple of weeks, we don’t want a case of mistaken plant identity. That would be bad. Or at least I am told.
I am of the gardening mind that it will all work out. God/dess is in the details, right? Weeds sprout, trees drop their seed/acorn/pine cone and they grow without any help from us meddling humans. I have proof of this miracle in my backyard where I have numerous baby white oaks; pine trees and one lovely little teenage maple tree that have all find life and strength from the simple power and miracle of nature.
So as for the seeds, I am attentive and try my best to follow the “rules.” But I will be honest; my bohemian, free love way of gardening has been successful so far. I trust and I sow. I trust and I replant. I trust and when the rain doesn’t come, I water. And like magic and miracle, wonderful green, life appears. Every time. And each time, I am awe-inspired. I get excited when the carrots grow, or when we have tomatoes in a salad that grew from our garden or when I can walk through the kitchen and grab a piece of fresh fruit.
Yesterday, Mason (my 11-year old son) and I picked nectarines and plums from our fruit trees. We took colorful, woven baskets and ventured outside in the beautiful, breezy day and picked and laughed and ate fruit. The sweet, sticky juice of our own homegrown fruit running down our arms and laughing as we each try to find the next perfect piece.
And whatever doubt I ever had in mind about whether or not moving here was worth it; that having people question your choices, or your clothes, or your bumper stick simply evaporated when Mason grabbed my hand as we were coming up the hill.
“You know Mom, I am glad we live here. It’s awesome,” he said smiling.
Now that Baby is True Freedom. Let it Ring!