You know you live in a small town when they announce the winner of the Fourth of July greased pig chase over the pulpit in Sacrament Meeting. Until a few years ago, I never really cared for the Fourth of July holiday. It was always hot, crowded, sticky, loud and somewhat lonely. I couldn't understand how a day that ended in fireworks could still feel so anticlimactic. And then I moved to a little town called Liberty, and now just can't seem to get enough of the day.
This year Liberty Days began at 7 a.m. with The Star-Spangled Banner, all verses, being sung by a young, clear voice projected to the far corners of the community park and rodeo grounds over the newly installed sound system. The object of the stirring ballad, the American flag, was then raised by the local scout troop to watch over the day. Kids of all ages, most with bedhead and ruddy cheeks just waiting to be fake tattooed with patriotic combinations of red white and blue, waited in the early morning line for a robust chuck wagon breakfast. Volunteers flipped flap-jacks, slung hashbrowns, sliced melons, and sold tickets for events such as the quilt raffle, cow plop and stick horse derby.
The block long parade showcased equal numbers of tractors and tricycles, while the greased pole lured holiday monkeys up a 25 foot slippery vertical climb, with it's promise of a hundred dollar bill tethered to the top. We cheered on the sack racers, hula hoopers, arm wrestlers, mutton busters, and hot dog, watermelon and pie eaters; and when it got hot, we cooled off with snow-cones courtesy of the Young Men from church, and got "flushed" courtesy of a toilet bowl perched on top of an unusual dunking booth.
The fireworks were stellar as usual, even if (as a result of losing the chabin) we were, as my sister Alison expressed, "just grass sitters," like everyone else. The day ended with taking down the flags surrounding my empty corner, which served as a parking lot for holiday revelers, and packing our own patriots up to "Uncle Jed's old house with the pool"–the condo at Wolf Creek, where we played more games until late into the night, as if we did not want the day to end.
I heart Liberty Days.
The creatures pictured to the left are my nieces and nephews. As it is in the animal kingdom, each has distinct behaviors and personalities. They are fun kids who generally keep each other entertained, and make the rest of us laugh. I think extended family relationships are important, and help to shape our experience in the world. I hope the memories they are making as cousins are as fond as the ones I made as a youth.
Recently my sisters and I were reminiscing about the fun, crazy, traumatic and always memorable experiences spent with our own cousins growing up. We traveled in masse, usually stuffed in layers into the Nelson's red 70's VW bus (seatbelts...what were seatbelts?), and spent so much time together, it was as though we were a polygamist family.
There were trips to Lagoon with homemade picnic lunches, returning home late at night "all-day" stamped and sunburned; camp-outs in the trailer on the Coltman farm in Idaho, which always smelled of burnt popcorn and asparagus; standing in line for "Star Wars" again, and again and again; road-trips to California beaches via the Nevada ranch, where we stopped for Aunt Nelda's oatmeal and horseback rides; swimming lessons, tennis lessons, fishing trips and sleep-overs on the round trampoline; and outings to the zoo, all stinky and sticky. We played every card game, board game, and version of tag imaginable–and made up many so games of our own. We established club houses, published our own newsletter and played the name game for hours. Hawaii was a thrill, even if only seen from under the dashboard; and the field trip to the slaughterhouse made us all vegetarians for awhile–(Did Uncle Varr forget that we were city kids? Or...kids?)
Thank you Nelson family for a memorable childhood. Although my pictures of those days were lost in the fire, the memories are still intact. God bless cousins.
Tonight, while a rerun of a BYU Forum address was playing on a PBS television station in the background, I heard one of the best course of actions for how to cultivate the creative process: Fall in love with the world, and take notes.
If God is THE Creator (which I believe) and we are His children (which I know), we are, by heavenly heritage, also Creators. What better way to learn the pattern and mature into our deific future than to study His creations: the world, ourselves and the plan of salvation?
The power of observation, I now see, is one of many divine powers we can develop in order to hone our skills as creators.
Sometimes my nephews forget to watch their language and fall into a string of "potty words" that for some reason make little boys giggle. When four-year-old Joey called his brother Zach a "booger," he was reprimanded by his mother for using such inappropriate language. "But mom," Joey countered, "that's not a POTTY word. Boogers come out of your NOSE." Technically true.
John Ruskin, the art critic, said, “When we build, let us think that we build forever. Let us not build for the present delight, nor for the present peace alone. Let it be work such that our descendants will thank us. And let us think as we lay stone upon stone, that a time is to come when these stones shall be a blessing, that we might receive inspiration, and be guided as it were by this molding of the humble clay.”
And that's why I do what I do.
Today I learned that my very good friend and fellow Nauvooer, Erin, is currently welcoming her newborn son into the world. Congratulations/Good Luck/Best Wishes.
Whether the world is aware of it's importance or not, June 27th is a very significant date. In 1844 Joseph Smith the Prophet of the Restoration, and his brother Hyrum the Patriarch, completed their foreordained duty, and returned home. Considering how we remember birthdays, and thrill at soul's entrance into this life, I've pondered a little bit on what kind of celebrations must occur as one is born again into a new life beyond the veil. Another friend of mine, Adris, a pioneer in her own right, coined the term "homegoing." I like that.
I just couldn't let this day pass without acknowledging the incalculable efforts made by the forebears of our faith–those who facilitated earthly access to the fullness of the gospel, for all mankind. Today I am particularly moved by the unfathomable sacrifices of Joseph and Emma. To me they are the ultimate dynamic duo, right up there with Adam and Eve, our first parents. My sincere gratitude and profound awe for all parents who selflessly bestow gifts of new life.
check out this great video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HaH_OKPO-zs
Assisting with my impending high school reunion this summer, I have been able to reconnect with some long lost friends. One of those acquaintances is Gordon. In addition to being a dad and doctor, he is an amazing photographer. www.gordonsmith.smugmug.com
Years ago, on a sluggish summer day, I remember packing my camera around downtown Salt Lake with Gordon as we played tourists in our own city. It was a ton of fun– learning more about the history and architecture of the area, picking up complementary postcards and interviewing native Utahns about what they liked to do around town.
In light of rising fuel costs, taking another vacation close to home may be more in the budget this year. If you also choose to tour locally, send me a postcard.
You know you live in a small town when they announce the winner of the Fourth of July greased pig chase over the pulpit in Sacrament Meeting. Until a few years ago, I never really cared for the Fourth of July holiday. It was always hot, crowded, sticky, loud and somewhat lonely. I couldn't understand how a day that ended in fireworks could still feel so anticlimactic. And then I moved to a little town called Liberty, and now just can't seem to get enough of the day.
The block long parade showcased equal numbers of tractors and tricycles, while the greased pole lured holiday monkeys up a 25 foot slippery vertical climb, with it's promise of a hundred dollar bill tethered to the top. We cheered on the sack racers, hula hoopers, arm wrestlers, mutton busters, and hot dog, watermelon and pie eaters; and when it got hot, we cooled off with snow-cones courtesy of the Young Men from church, and got "flushed" courtesy of a toilet bowl perched on top of an unusual dunking booth.
