A Festooned Fourth

Of all the things I missed while living abroad, the Fourth of July is the one I always come back to.

Nothing is quite like Independence Day in the USA. Perhaps I'm just nostalgic, longing for the idea of a holiday steeped in vintage Americana - the feel of small-town America circa 1910. Or maybe it is truly an appreciation of everything this less-than-perfect but still promising country has to offer.

In any event, I felt strangely empty not celebrating July 4th. I missed the parades and the fireworks, the rousing patriotic tunes and the red, white & blue.

This year, for the first time, we are part of the Ninth Street Hill Festooned Fourth, a display of flags and colors. Up and down our street - a fairly busy, main thoroughfare through the city and just south of downtown - the houses are decorated with flags. Over 600 flags - and yards and yards of red, white, and blue bunting - adorn houses and porches of the neighborhood, a true Victorians statement of patriotism.


Small flags line the sidewalks up down the six blocks of Ninth Street Hill.


One of my favorite flags is the Bicentennial Flag - I have very fond memories of the summer of 1976.


On our own house hangs the flag of The Bucks of America, the only all-African-American regiment of the Revolutionary War.

There are so many reasons I am proud of my country. I am in absolute awe of our Constitution and the way it was so brilliantly crafted. I admire our founding fathers and mothers and all they gave for our freedom, their wisdom and they established this fledgling nation and lived through many years of unrest to realize their dream. And though others would challenge it, I still believe in the principles on which this country was founded: freedom of speech, separation of church and state, and the right of all to pursue their individual beliefs and dreams of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

And every four years, I am reminded that we have a peaceful transition of power, something not all countries can claim. We have the right to vote for our leaders, and we have the right to voice our dissent. These are rights not to be taken for granted.

So each time I see those flags flying, I am reminded of what my life here means and how very fortunate we are. Which is probably why I became nostalgic on those holidays spent on foreign soil. And why I appreciate where I came from even more.

Long may it wave.