HERE it is, July Fourth. Holy smoke, and let us pray we don’t see mushroom clouds rising from our hills and valleys. If you’re even thinking of setting off contraband fireworks, remember one word: Don’t! Make that two words: Wildfires! Many of our neighbors and brethren are still trying to heal from last year’s firestorms. Nightmare scenes of homes and barns reduced to a gray ash are burned into our memories, and seared into survivors’ lives. Let us not be dumb enough to light one off again. I can also tell you, our Golden Gracie will be grateful; mortar thunder scares the crap out of her.
There’s more than a little July Fourth in all of us. Frankly, it’s an anthem that never stops in our heads. Author Francis Scott Key made sure of that. Today is the perfect time to recall that his daughter, Anna Arnold Key Turner, is buried in the Mare Island US Navy Cemetery, Vallejo.
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I cannot let slide any longer the fact that this isn’t just another July 4th. Today, in 1921, Helen Harbison Power and her husband Edwin I. Power set up a rustic fruit stand under a walnut tree to sell to highway travelers the remains of a fruit crop hit hard by a spring frost. They sold out for a total $15. Before they knew it, diners were flying in. The new Carriage Trade arrived by air. Nut Tree was born this very day, 100 years ago. Its rise over 75 years was legend, a story of imagination and hard work told time and again.
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It was the day before yesterday– 245 years ago–that revolutionaries in powdered wigs and tight silk breeches achieved what far too many of our patriot forebears fought and died for: Total independence from the Brits and their royals. With the stroke of a feather quill, the Declaration—a fine piece of writing–gave us a Land of the Free and Home of the Brave, i.e. sweeping freedom and the inalienable right to bellyache. We have become expert at that. Some called it the American Experiment. We are still trying to get it right—defending freedom, shoring up injustice, making headway against hatred and racial and gender inequality.
As recent as this week, Arizona GOP won Supreme Court support for upholding measures that could affect minority voters. Dissenters said it “weakens” the Voting Rights Act. To us it proves there will always be times that try men’s souls.
HOT weather, hot dogs and an ice cold beer, known as a nice cold beer. And over it all waves a flag—The Flag–which many times over has proven to be much tougher than we ever imagined. If that isn’t reason to pause and praise all who made it so, God didn’t make little green apples. Tonight, we’re back! We’ll again pull up a curb for ringside views of the 2021 running of the Rockets’ Red Glare.
A CreekWalk concert kicks it off at 6:30. Before that, noon to 4, Vaca Museum strikes up its Musical Americana in its courtyard. Music by Darlyn and the Groove Room. BBQ by Smohhk Daddy’s. With all the watering holes along Main St., it won’t be hard to find a party today. Never out of mind will be those who, for 245 years, gave the last full measure for all that July 4th was and always will be.
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THREE years ago, retired Air Force Col. Richard Wright reached a personal goal: He matched his 86 years with miles he pedaled on his recumbent bike–times 100. In other words, 8,600 miles. But that wasn’t the end of it. His next goal was to reach 9,000 miles. He blew through that long before age 90, and headed for 10,000 miles. Wright reached that goal last week, and he’s still a helluva long way from 100.
To be specific, 89 this month. So he set a logical goal: Hit 12,000 miles by age 90, a year from now. Imagine pedaling the distance of two round-trips, Vacaville to New York, and back. It takes my breath away, ditto my bum and back. The former pilot of C-141 Starlifters, C-130s and early jet fighters lives in Paradise Valley. On most days he pedals to Pure Grain and back, an hour or so each way. As he did in his flying days, Wright still prays for tailwinds.
The author is former publisher of The Reporter.
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