The Fourth of July is a strange holiday for me to love, but love it I do. Maybe it's because for the past few years we've made a point of celebrating it in New Hampshire, and making our Fourth of July stay one of the longest of the summer. This is when we try to stay here for at least a week; sometimes, depending on when the holiday falls, we're lucky enough to stay even longer. That's this year: we're here for 10 days.
We started off the Fourth with a parade in Plainfield, as we do every year. L&G get so excited about this parade--it's the only one we go to each year, and candy is thrown in abundance. They collected a huge haul that almost made up for the blazing hot sun we were standing in. My favorite part of the parade: small bottles of chocolate milk handed out by a local dairy farm. This is small town America, right here.
After the parade, we had hot dogs and pulled pork sandwiches from the firemen's BBQ tent.
In the afternoon, we went swimming at our cousins' pool. The girls had so much fun. They love the pool at home, but inflatable toys aren't allowed there; it was new and exciting for them to actually get to swim with their giant donuts in a swimming pool.
We BBQ'd at home for dinner, roasted some marshmallows over the grill, and then killed a little time before driving to a town called Hartland, NH, for fireworks. It was time to blow bedtime totally out of the water.
We drove to the river where everyone had set out blankets and chairs, and settled in to wait. Greta began fading around 9pm, as we continued to wait, while Lucia's energy level sky-rocketed to the point where she was a thrumming, boinging blur of child. As it got later and later, with still no fireworks, we almost called it a failed experiment and headed home. But then, at 9:30, the fireworks began--a pretty fantastic display for such a tiny town. Worth the wait.
We had some encounters with aggressive, pickup-truck-driving humanity as the sea of cars in the parking lot pressed toward one tiny exit after the fireworks ended, but we made it out unscathed. The car in front of us was literally wrapped from bumper to bumper in duct tape, which made the driver's engine-gunning, cutting-us-off surprise move more impressive than angering. It was a car up for anything. Our undented, NJ-plated Volvo bowed its head in humble defeat and slight embarrassment.