Recollections of truly explosive Fourth of Julys past

It usually took about two hours for all 40 bottles of my Mom’s homemade root beer to explode.

That was the highlight of the 4th of July Celebration in our tiny town of Warland, Montana in 1941. No parades but that was OK — there were no streets anyway. No electricity so no refrigeration or ice for ice cream, but four years out of five, my Mother’s root beer could be depended upon to explode.

Mother never said why, in the face of such disaster, she kept on making, capping, and creating explosions, but it was something to look forward to.

With the preliminaries disposed of, we moved on to the picnic and firecrackers. After all, it’s just what John Adams wanted for us. He saw fireworks as an important part of the Independence Day celebration “with Pomp and Parade, with Shews, Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and illuminations from one End of this Continent to the other from this time forward forever more.”

Fireworks? My goodness, we took President Adams at his word. He would have been proud. They were going off everywhere from all sorts of places, the more unexpected the better. There were the huge Red Devil Super Bombs exploded under the outhouse, to the small red ladyfingers, creating a more discreet explosion in the lap of some unsuspecting girl.

We didn’t get all spun up about fireworks. They were just part of the celebratory experience, and if a kid or two blew a finger or two into the surrounding grass, oh well, they had others. Even the 6-year-old I was then would have trouble understanding today’s fuss about the disturbance from fireworks going on too long or too loud.

We couldn’t afford many fireworks but we made them last as long as possible until finally we settled in to enjoy the picnic that had been sitting out all afternoon in the heat — so there was often a sincerely upset stomach in the middle of the night. Did I mention there was no indoor plumbing? So why does my heart light up when I remember those wonderful terrible days?

In the years that followed, like most military families, we took our Independence Day celebration on the road, wherever the world and the U.S. Army took us.

We were in Taiwan in the 1960s where firecrackers were everywhere in strings of hundreds. Number One Son remembers: “Dad repurposed a long skinny piece (1-inch diameter, about 3 feet long) of metal tubing from the swing set by cutting a square hole at one end so you could put a skyrocket in at the bottom and the fuse would stick out the square window. Dad would light the fuse with his ever-present cigarette lighter and voila! We had a skyrocket bazooka / rifle.

Number One Grandson recalls: “I convinced my parents that I was responsible enough to hold and use that “punk” stick to light off fireworks and ended up trying to be cool and putting it in my mouth. Well, I put the wrong side in my mouth and burned my tongue.” You only do that once.

Readers might be disturbed by my description of those more rowdy times. I’m not saying it was good. I’m saying this is how it was. Times change.

One of my favorite Independence Days was the year Younger Daughter (notice how none of my children seem to have real names?) marched with her drill/dance team in the Steilacoom Fourth of July parade. She had unsuccessfully tried out for the high school drill team multiple times. On the last day of the last trials, she set off to get the results — again. “What will you do if you don’t get in?” I asked, encouraging a different strategy. So she created a no-cut drill team for community fun, which led to her being invited to perform in Florida at the Just for Kix All Stars halftime show at the Hall of Fame Bowl.

But back in July of 1941, the last year we were in Montana, only four of my Mom’s bottles exploded. Theories were pretty evenly divided between not allowing the yeast to work long enough, and not leaving enough room between the brew and the cap in the neck of the bottle. It really ruined the celebration.

We had moved to a small apartment in Spokane before the world changed forever on Dec. 7.

So it’s Independence Day again. The celebrations are different, quieter. Lots of talk about the new, mean culture, but still there’s always something to celebrate and with luck new friends to celebrate with. Maybe we just need to look for a different strategy.

Where to find Dorothy in July

• 10 a.m. to noon July 27: Celebrate World Watercolor Month by joining Dorothy and friends, artists and dribblers in painting a water color picture online. Get list of supplies and a Zoom link at Dorothy@SwimmingUpstreamRadioShow.com
• Listen to Dorothy’s podcast wherever podcasts are available or https://SwimmingUpstreamRadioShow.com
• Contact Dorothy at P.O. Box 881, DuPont, WA 98327, phone 800-548-9264 or email Dorothy@itsnevertoolate.com

This story was originally published July 4, 2021 at 5:00 AM.