July News
Well, I've finally gotten back to posting. I started this blog and immediately ignored it. Well, no more.
July the Fourth has come and gone, and here in Utah it isn't really a big holiday. The big day in this state is Pioneer Day, July 24th, which is the day Brigham Young finally dropped out of the Wasatch Mountains with the wagon train of pioneer believers and exclaimed, "This is the place."
In Utah, the celebration of July 24th is always on the closest Saturday to the 24th. This year, the 24th IS on Saturday. How convenient. Where I happen to live, this celebration day begins with ultra-loud pyrotechnic shells set off at each intersection in town--beginning at 5 a.m. Then, as the fire department sets off these extremely loud explosions (which are meant to recall Brigham's dawn cannon alarm in the Salt Lake Valley in the early years), a pick-up truck drives around town with a flat-bed trailer that has--what else?--a little town band of musicians. The band consists of a guitar player, banjo, piano, and maybe a bass or violin. Depends on who volunteers to get up at 5 a.m. and ride around town following really loud explosions. At around 9 a.m. a very, very short parade route up and down Main Street begins. People on the pioneer--themed floats throw candy and the kids and adults sramble to pick it up. It is extremely surreal.
The first year we lived here, enduring this early morning assault was a novelty, a cultural insight to which we had become privy by simply moving to town. The second year of the celebration put me in a HORRID mood the entire day. By the time our third year of surviving this day came around, we had moved into a home we purchased that had a basement--with a bedroom!! We slept in like babies and never ONCE heard an explosion or strange music drifting through town.
After the parade, in the middle of town every July 24th, there is a dramatic re-enactment of an old west gun battle. The first year we lived here, the little tableau included a lynching of BLM land managers. A year ago January, our county deputy assigned to this town was actually shot and killed by two drunk guys on Superbowl Sunday---so who needs a fake gun fight when a real one is still liable to break out, at any time?
I suppose I respect the notion of honoring the pioneers that came west to start a new life, and their drive to build something out of nothing. It is exactly what my husband and I did coming to town and starting a business. I do think of my family's history and how they moved west to find a better life, employment, or to scratch out a living on a small farm.
In Utah, though, it seems that the only pioneers that matter are the ones that came here as followers of the Mormon Church.
July the Fourth has come and gone, and here in Utah it isn't really a big holiday. The big day in this state is Pioneer Day, July 24th, which is the day Brigham Young finally dropped out of the Wasatch Mountains with the wagon train of pioneer believers and exclaimed, "This is the place."
In Utah, the celebration of July 24th is always on the closest Saturday to the 24th. This year, the 24th IS on Saturday. How convenient. Where I happen to live, this celebration day begins with ultra-loud pyrotechnic shells set off at each intersection in town--beginning at 5 a.m. Then, as the fire department sets off these extremely loud explosions (which are meant to recall Brigham's dawn cannon alarm in the Salt Lake Valley in the early years), a pick-up truck drives around town with a flat-bed trailer that has--what else?--a little town band of musicians. The band consists of a guitar player, banjo, piano, and maybe a bass or violin. Depends on who volunteers to get up at 5 a.m. and ride around town following really loud explosions. At around 9 a.m. a very, very short parade route up and down Main Street begins. People on the pioneer--themed floats throw candy and the kids and adults sramble to pick it up. It is extremely surreal.
The first year we lived here, enduring this early morning assault was a novelty, a cultural insight to which we had become privy by simply moving to town. The second year of the celebration put me in a HORRID mood the entire day. By the time our third year of surviving this day came around, we had moved into a home we purchased that had a basement--with a bedroom!! We slept in like babies and never ONCE heard an explosion or strange music drifting through town.
After the parade, in the middle of town every July 24th, there is a dramatic re-enactment of an old west gun battle. The first year we lived here, the little tableau included a lynching of BLM land managers. A year ago January, our county deputy assigned to this town was actually shot and killed by two drunk guys on Superbowl Sunday---so who needs a fake gun fight when a real one is still liable to break out, at any time?
I suppose I respect the notion of honoring the pioneers that came west to start a new life, and their drive to build something out of nothing. It is exactly what my husband and I did coming to town and starting a business. I do think of my family's history and how they moved west to find a better life, employment, or to scratch out a living on a small farm.
In Utah, though, it seems that the only pioneers that matter are the ones that came here as followers of the Mormon Church.
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