Independence Day

Independence Day was pure sunny fun when I was growing up. A few days before the Fourth of July, my family attached two small American flags to the posts flanking the gate in the white board fence surrounding our yard. We wrapped red-white-and-blue crepe paper around the four cylindrical wooden posts of the front porch. On the day itself, we gathered sticks, started a fire, roasted hot dogs, and toasted marshmallows.

Fox Terrier Named Spot and I Celebrating Fourth of July in the 1960s

The big event, though, was in the evening. My mother loaded the 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air with a basket of cheese sandwiches, a jug of orange juice, a thermos of tomato soup, and another thermos of coffee. We were off to the fireworks in Fowler, Indiana! Almost always, my father gently nosed the car into the weeds along a gravel road just south of the park where the fireworks were displayed. We spread blankets beside the Chevrolet, which was tilted toward the ditch, and sat together as a family. We enjoyed our supper, just as other families were enjoying theirs up and down the country road.

In about 1966, my father poured a cup of coffee from a thermos and handed the cup to my mother. I commented on the pleasant aroma. My mother asked my father, “Are you going to let Robert taste yours?” “I don’t know. Am I?” my father asked in return. “I think he’s old enough,” my mother replied. My father poured a small amount into his clean cup and handed it to me, and, from that Independence Day onward, I have enjoyed coffee.

As darkness fell, we watched for pink lights, which were the wands the volunteer firemen carried to light the fireworks. In the gathering haze of a hot summer’s night, the pink lights began to fan out mysteriously. Then, with the sound of the air being punched, a nearly invisible rocket slithered up and up. Suddenly, a giant flower of light bloomed overhead! What satisfaction!

We oohed and ahed, comparing colors and effects to choose our favorites. At our distance from the park and from our vantage point behind the show, we could not always discern what the displays on the ground were intended to be, but the waterfall was always obvious and always appreciated for its dazzling white, its smoke drifting to one side, and its noise not unlike a cascade.

While fireworks displays, like so many other forms of entertainment, have become increasingly dazzling since those days when I was growing up, the displays back then were as thrilling as anyone could have wished! The finale was grand enough with several bursts of brilliant color occurring in rapid succession in the night sky.

As we drove back home, our joyful thoughts centered on how proud we were to be Americans.

Why I Planted Tiger Lilies

When I was growing up, my family always drove to Fowler, Indiana, to see the fireworks on the Fourth of July. In the deepening dusk, anticipation grew until the crowd spotted the bobbing pink lights that were the wands the firemen used to ignite the rockets. A cheer went up, and, almost as quickly, so did the opening mortars with a whoosh soon followed by an explosion of vibrant colors.

I connect the spectacular bursts in the night sky with several “firsts” for me. At a very young age, I tasted my first cotton candy at the Fowler fireworks display. Later, I enjoyed my first coffee there. While I have not eaten cotton candy in many, many years, I am sipping a cup of coffee while I type this sentence.

I may have been in seventh grade when I was permitted to drink coffee. My father, mother, brother, and I were awaiting the fireworks. My father poured a cup of coffee from a thermos and handed the cup to my mother, who said, “Are you going to let Robert taste yours?”

“I don’t know. Am I?” my father asked.

“I think he’s old enough,” my mother observed.

My brother, a few years older than I, was already drinking coffee. My father poured a small amount into what was to be his cup and handed it to me. After I blew and blew on the coffee to cool it, I tried it. I loved the nutty flavor! I was hooked from that day forward, but, at first, I was permitted only the occasional cup.  

My Father's Tiger Lilies

I also connect fireworks with tiger lilies, which were my father’s favorite flowers. I think he conferred upon tiger lilies the special status of being his chosen blossoms because they were always in full bloom during his birthday in the third week of July.

The flamboyant lilies seem an incongruous choice of flower for my father, who was soft-spoken, mild, and gentle. I saw him lose his temper only once. It was when a sow broke through a barn door and escaped in the meadow. My father had gone to a lot of trouble to herd the pig into the stall, and, as he knew all too well, making a second attempt to coax the sow into the barn would be an exercise in futility. My father was unaware that I witnessed his anger. He thought he was alone, but I was hiding so as to surprise him when he walked past. Had I not observed his tantrum, I would tell you that he never lost his temper, and I really believe that he almost never did.

My Father Filling the Tank of the Farmall Tractor

Even though tiger lilies are loud and brassy, they are refined, and it is in their refinement that they share a characteristic with my father. A Valedictorian at a time long before any dumbing down of education, my father was intelligent, knowledgeable, and well spoken. He could compose and deliver a speech better than anyone, and such refinement finds an analogy in the tall stalks, exact leaves, and branching flowers of tiger lilies.

Tiger Lilies in Bright Sunlight

If you will make it a point to view such lilies after sundown on an endlessly mellow July evening—and if you will squint—you can imagine the flowers and the unopened buds as the pyrotechnic bursts and streaks of light from fireworks in the night sky.

Tiger Lilies Reminiscent of Fireworks

When my father passed away, a friend urged me to transplant at my home a clump of Dad’s cherished lilies. I did so, and, dependably, they have reached their fullest bloom during the week of my father’s birthday. They serve as a brilliant reminder of his life.