This is a far cry from what I remember growing up. Dad would bring out the paper bag of "Smokey Joes," pinwheels, sparklers and charcoal snakes, and about 4 o'clock my three brothers and I would start whining about when we could light them. The family gathered on our patio after dinner while my father brought out the heavy fire fighting tools. He spent the evening terrified that one of the pinwheels would go under the car and blow up (it almost happened one year), or that a rocket would scatter sparks on the roof and kill us all later that night. Nothing really bad happened. The charcoal "snakes" that uncoiled and smoked once lit were always our favorites.
Fast forward to 4 o'clock on Bainbridge on this fourth. The neighbors two piers over from my brother's waterfront home set off the first explosive and the dog went flying into the house. The boom was so loud it shook the windows. Something like ten M80s.
When we complained loudly to the drunken crowd that had set it off, they replied saying the next one would be coming into our yard. Such a joy to join together and celebrate our nation's birthday!
Many explosions, gigantic colorful rockets over the redwoods and water, and one police visit later, the evening finally came to an end. The air was filled with smoke, an eery stillness that was punctuated by occasional firecrackers in the distance. The scene at midnight felt something like a war zone. I couldn't help thinking about the kingfishers, ospreys, raccoons and deer, not to mention the air pollution.
It was fun, I can't deny it. But maybe it's just as well personal fireworks are outlawed in most of California. Washington is close behind, which is probably good because the cleanup efforts and wildlife trauma will take a year at least to subside.
No comments:
Post a Comment