My favorite part was walking home from the crush of downtown merrymakers–through the rain, which was showing no sign of letting up for awhile–only to decide that the fireworks were not likely to be a feature of the evening, since the operators of the system would be likely to have difficulty getting their matches going to set things off. Bummer!
My second favorite part was just getting ready to climb into bed when the sound of fireworks explosions rattled the neighborhood while flashes of multicolored lights illuminated the place. The cats were puzzled but not scared. Apparently, they figured that they were not the only ones who could make “things that go bump in the night”, and simply bowed to a higher power (not me, of course). After tugging on some real clothes over my jammies, so as to not appall the folks next door, I walked up the street, through the remaining drips that had postponed the fireworks in the first place, and I stood in the parking lot of The Y to watch the display. Not bad, actually, once the booming was looming farther overhead and the varied shapes and color combinations showed up more clearly with each volley. When one watches this sort of thing in a bigger crowd, say up at Hiram or over in Newton Falls, Washington, D.C. or Cedar Point, one hears the Ooooh” and “Aaaah” from the assembled watchers, but in this instance, there were just the four of us–me and the neighbors–who did not say much at all. I used to go to the home of some friends on South St. to watch in their back yard, but they’ve moved on so now, it’s “Catch as catch can,” when it comes to viewing spots. At least The Y was not crowded.
How many folks actually stuck around through and after the rain to see all of this anyway? I figured that there was no way there could be a “rain date” so the fireworks people just decided to “go for broke”, dry out their wicks and make it happen. They did a fine job, under the circumstances.
As did the concessionaires and vendors on the streets. Purchasers sort of fade away when the rain starts pouring down. The tents and trailers survived to sizzle another day, another dollar when things dried off on Sunday…of course, it rained again then too. Never give up. I always try to get something to eat that I would not fix at home; the Indonesian spot was interesting, corn dogs are not one of my home specialities, fries–not happening in my kitchen, gyros–nope.
Gives me quite a range of things to try. The fry pies were excellent but not available on Sunday (as I remembered too late).
It was also fun to run into friends and former students (one and the same, often) wandering the streets, eating the food, looking for other classmates and such. Most of ‘em I even recognized. Some of them, I suspect, recognized me and went the other way before I brought up their behavior in Social Studies class, lo, these many years ago ( I never do that, by the way, unless the former student brings it up first, usually to tell some juicy story starring themselves.).
I do wonder, though, what possesses people to bring infant children and dogs to these things, especially when the temperatures reach the heights we’ve been seeing–and feeling–lately. The dogs, luckily, most of them are on leashes, but with tongues lolling out, clearly thirsty, are not all that crazy about the crowds, nor about walking on hot pavement (especially pavement decorated by the horse/pony units in the parade). Their feet hurt! The children, if they’re small enough, are either sacked out in the ungodly heat, or what my grandma used to call “fussy”, or getting a colossal sunburn (which everyone will be paying for through the next week). Sometimes their feet hurt too!
The tractor parade, as a separate entity, featured somewhere north of 130 entrants chugging through town, backing up traffic for God knows how far. Some antique tractors also had antique drivers and passengers. Candy was flying through the air the whole way, I’ll bet. A couple of those suckers had twelve wheels per side and as much space in the cabin as my living room. Of course, they cost more than my whole house and have made Bonner Farms a non-pareil rural employer in these parts too. Talk about your contrasts ! Here are these immense farming machines rolling past, fit to crack the pavement, and here’s a little bitty Amish girl , with her family, a whole bunch of ‘em, watching, wide-eyed and barefoot on that same pavement as the agri-Goliath. The times, they are a-changin’, for sure.
By the bye, did anyone else spot the Portage County Miss Agriculture on the float with the Mantua Potato Festival Queen & court? More royalty than this fandango can hold!
SummerFest Grand Marshal, Michelle Zivoder was recognizable, even without her tiara. Like the Aussies say, “Good on ‘er!”
