I Survived The Fourth of July

If there are lakes, they will come.

During the first week of July, one-third of the entire population of Michigan shifts approximately one hundred and eighty miles north. Without concern for public safety, speed limits, or personal space, vehicles from Ann Arbor, Detroit, and Grand Rapids come for the holiday.  One by one, travelers settle in Gaylord, Cheboygan and Harbor Springs. People who live in Gaylord, Cheboygan and Harbor Springs move north over the bridge into the Upper Peninsula.

Now this a truth for all in the state save the actual Yoopers, as they already live in heaven, and folks from Traverse City, as they are required to get permission from Michael Moore if they are to travel outside city limits and the paperwork gets backed up. (Ha! Oh settle down Traverse City, I’m just messing with you, don’t be so sensitive!)

I love this holiday, great purpose, great family time, and most of all I love a good parade.

This year it was extra hot, and the 4^th of July assemblage in Boyne City, MI paraded for an admirable extended amount of time in over ninety degree temps.

Four indications that your 4^th of July parade may be a tad too long:

1. Children are not crying with shouts of joy and wonder, they are simply crying.

2. The heat index on the spandex-encased woman on the curb across the street reads “T-M-I”.

3. The Veterans are taking a nap; their firearms precariously balanced just enough to make you nervous as they pass by.

4. The Shriners in their Fez hats are egging-on a fist fight between the Democrat and Republican running for county prosecutor.

Surviving the parade with a minor case of heat exhaustion, you move onto the local food fair. Nothing says happy birthday to our great nation more intimately and deeply than food on a stick. Everything simply tastes better skewered and carried around town. My personal favorite is a stick of butter dipped in sweet batter, deep fried, and then covered in powdered sugar and raspberry drizzle.   Of course, in order to purchase one, you must sign a waiver saying that you are okay with forfeiting three years of your life by clogging your carotid arteries. I signed. It was worth it.

The scorching sun compelled us to move toward the art fair and the covered tent store fronts. One particular booth that caught my attention donned a huge banner sporting giant letters that read ‘STONED’.  Interestingly enough numerous people (many of them wearing tie-dye shirts and Rastafarian hats) were clamoring to get into the enclosure. To the dismay of the Rastafarians, it was not a traveling medical marijuana salesman, it was an artisan who was selling multiple items covered in river rocks….lamps, bowls, tables, curtains, just about anything, yep, all covered in stones. The depressed left to find some munchies.

They had a great T-shirt I was tempted to purchase that simply had their logo printed across the front, but it would probably not go over well at the church picnic. I better stick with one that simply reads,

‘I survived the 4^th of July, 2012’.