My 4th of July was successful on all accounts, as my work day consisted of a really enjoyable outreach program, a plethora of fried food, and also some booze.
We took Dakota (RTHA), Cleo (GHOW), Isis (AMKE), and Cica Bean (EASO) to Moose Lake, a tourist town perched on the edge of, guess what, a lake. We set up in a shady area beneath swaying white pines, blocked off a small area of space with red string, and tethered the birds. We gave informal programs every two hours and answered questions between our 25 minutes of in-depth education. I kneeled on the grass and asked toddlers if they thought Cica was a baby or an adult, answered incredibly smart questions such as, "Is the American Kestrel smaller than the European Kestrel?" and "Is Dakota a light or dark phase Red-Tailed Hawk?" (answers: yes and neither, she's an average, albeit beautiful, Red-Tailed Hawk), and counted how many cowboy hats I spotted in the crowd of dyed mohawks and patriotic wife-beaters (actually, I only really counted one cowboy hat, but it was a valiant effort). A symphony of smooth jazz and bass covers of popular songs serenaded us in the background as, when the crowds died down, we sat on the grass, leaned against trees, and hung out with our raptors. During down time I took photographs and decided I was going to get a snack. I wandered over to the mini-donut truck, run by a lovely couple who arranges for us to come to the festival every year. I asked for a bag of donuts and offered money, but the man smiled and told me I didn't need to pay. Score. I shared my bag with Jeff, though it was difficult not to cram every single donut into my mouth immediately. They were absolutely delicious, melt-in-your-mouth and coated with cinnamon sugar. For lunch I ate my pre-packed PB&J and supplemented it with heart attack foods: mozzarella sticks, cheesecake on a stick dipped into a vat of chocolate, and orange crush. I ate near Dakota and watched children flock to Jeff as he showed them owl pellets, desiring to purchase one. At four, we packed up the birds and our stuff, stocked up on mini-donuts, strawberry and peach shaved ices, and coca colas before heading back to the center. It was the most fun outreach I have ever done.
After the birds were safely home, fed, watered, and their fans turned off for the day, I arrived home sweating and overheated. I quickly pulled on my swim suit and headed for the water, our convenient 253 foot deep pool in our backyard. I tossed my flip flops and towel on the dock and sprinted to the edge of the planks of wood, leaping into the air and crashing into the tepid water below. It was glorious. I paddled on my back, ottering and weaving between waves caused by nearby jet-skis, then swam my way back to the ladder. It was meant to be one dip, but I dove off the dock again, my addiction to water proving more prevalent than my hunger. Plunging through murky green water off the drop-off is both terrifying and exhilarating. I kicked my way between floats and once again lifted myself back onto the boards of the dock. Then I sat with my feet in the water, my heart hammering in my head and breathing deep. It felt good. The wind wrapped me in a cocoon of warmth, the sun evaporated droplets from my shoulders as I laid back, an arm tossed over my eyes and my chest rising and falling to the sound of waves lapping on shore. I was alive and it felt good.
After my lake excursion, Megan and I went into town to get some food. What's more American than eating out? Why, eating out at McDonald's, of course! We originally intended to get dinner at a local cafe, but it was closed for the 4th (as local places usually are), and so I obtained even more terrible food to put in my belly. We told each other the stories of how each of our cars were towed (mine when I was 16 and parked illegally at the fair, hers when she was 22 and her ex-boyfried parked her car in his neighbor's driveway during a concert) and then headed home to the pick-up point where Jeff would gather us to go to the street fair in Finlayson.
The street fair was...interesting. Before we reached the main area, Megan patted my on the shoulder and said, "Welcome to small town Midwest". There was a country band with a kazoo and a banjo playing on the grandstand next to a vendor that sold popcorn and frozen pizza, filthy children danced and fought in the street (literally slapping and pushing each other), and we sipped
Hippie Juice from our Snapple Bottles. Alana pulled out a bag filled with bubbles and handed one to each of us; both Megan and I got the ones decorated with Betsy Ross. We blew bubbles into the street, the evening sky, while children abandoned their slap-happy fights and ran to pop the bubbles or, even better, try to eat them. Eventually they somehow absconded with Megan's and Alana's bubbles and began blowing them right into each other's mouths. This is also when a small, muddy girl stroked the middle of Megan's face and she asked, "Did I just get blessed?" When our Hippie Juice had dwindled, Megan and I bought green apple Smirnoffs (I was carded, she was not, but only because I look like I'm 14) and popcorn doused in parmesan cheese for our walk to the field where fireworks would be prevalent.
Alana and Kaitlyn disappeared for a short while once we reached the field, so Megan and I entertained ourselves by taking pictures of ourselves next to the sign for the church, as its lettering matched our shirts exactly, lime green and hot pink. When they returned, we sat on an embankment and shrieked excitedly when we saw they were wielding handfuls of unlit sparklers. We twirled their green and gold light through the darkness over our feet, writing our names in cursive and wishing I'd brought my camera. Eventually, they all burned out and we only had Kaitlyn's glow stick left to provide light in the darkening field. It was only needed for so long, because then the fireworks began with what sounded like the blast of a canon and a rippling rumble.
The fireworks were spectacular. Maybe it can be attributed to my state of drunkenness, but every bloom of light elicited a squeal of delight from myself and the children surrounding me. Dandelions composed of layers of blue, gold, and red burst from towers of curlicued light. Lime green pinpoints scattered from their original source, searching the sky for something feverishly. UFOs of green and red, lop-sided smiley faces in patriotic colors, and showers of purple, shimmering light glowed briefly in the sky before disappearing in bright white sparkles that speckled the smoke for an extra couple of seconds each time. They were perfect.
(sometimes, I'm just going to write down my day. It might have pictures, it might not. But it will always have something interesting about it.)
