Going Back

Below is a photo essay I did in 2008 in honor of my family's yearly Independence Day tradition.

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For this photo essay, I decided to take photos at my Uncle Danny's house (technically he's my great uncle).  Every year on the 4th of July, there's a barbecue at his place.  Many of the descendants of my great grandparents (who had 13 children, including my maternal grandmother) head over to Danny's house for food, volleyball, and fireworks.  It's been a tradition for decades.

This is the home of my uncle Danny and his wife, Harriet, who've lived there for nigh 50 years.  On the 4th of July, their garage door is always wide open.  Everyone goes through the garage to get to the backyard.

When I was little, there wasn't a whole lot to do -- for kids, anyway -- at U.D.'s house.  His children were grown, so he didn't have a swingset or anything.  But my cousins and I still found ways to amuse ourselves, like... climbing that tree there on the right.  Getting the the lowest branch usually required a boost, but there was usually a cousin around to provide one.  Getting back down was another issue...



Boxes of Pop-Its usually kept us busy for a while.  Throughout the evening and into the night, there'd be sparklers and fireworks for all, but we had to wait for dusk for those.  Pop-Its could be detonated the moment we arrived (usually in the mid-afternoon.)  And so U.D.'s driveway would become littered with tiny white pieces of paper.

Pop-Its -- also known as "Whipper-Snappers" in our family -- had many uses.  You could throw 'em down hard at the pavement, one at a time.  You could place them on the ground and step on them.  Or you could pop them between your fingers -- a technique an older cousin once showed me, but that I was almost always too nervous to do.  After the boxes were empty, we'd go around stomping on all the discarded Pop-Its, just in case one had failed to pop initially.  We'd usually get 4 or 5 more pops that way.



A few shots from inside the house, because... why not?  This is their dining room table, which I highly doubt they ever use, seeing as how its loaded with photographs.



My aunt collects teacups & saucers.  This is only one of the shelves of them.  She has an equally-sized shelf on another wall, plus a bunch more placed here & there throughout the house.  They're really gorgeous and each is unique, but I'd hate to be there during an earthquake.

But those are not the only thing she collects...



Bears.  With a plastic covering to ward off the dust.  This is only a small portion of the bears.  Others are strewn throughout the house and worked into the decor.  We weren't supposed to ever play with them, and I was always a bit envious of my aunt for owning a stuffed Snuggle bear (of fabric softener commercial fame).  This is in their basement.



This is a view of the house from the back.  That door on the left is the door leading to the garage.  Here you can see the porch and the food table.  Front left, there are 2 of my great aunts.  There's always a ring of folding chairs and the old people sit there nearly the entire time.  The other day, I was observing my grandma and her sister.  They'll sit next to each other and make observations about things.  Sometimes they look really solemn, almost grumpy, even though they're not.

The other day, I realized they reminded me of Statler & Waldorf.

Except women. 

And... you know, not Muppets.



And here's a closeup of the food table.  Full of delicious items.  Usually an abundance of one thing -- this year, it was pasta salad.  Desserts decorated to look like the American flag.  Chips.  And all the fixings for hamburgers.



Soda!  Mmmm.  When I was a kid, I wasn't allowed to drink soda at home.  About the only time I got it (and I loved it, even then) was at picnics or restaurants.  On the 4th of July, there'd be all these soda cans just sitting there in the coolers, free for the taking.  I was like a kid in a candy store.  I'd drink at least 3, and my mom would get on my case ("How many have you had?  Is that your third one?  I saw you with one earlier.  Soda is bad for you!"  *tunes her out*)  But I was good this year.  I only had two cans.  Or maybe three.



Every year they pop up an enormous batch of popcorn.  Of course, by the time people arrive, it's not warm or anything, and it's the dry, butterless kind that gets stuck in your throat, but still... it's a tradition, and I must include it.



Here, my 3-year-old cousin, who helped himself to some popcorn four or five pictures ago, eats his snack in the shade.



Then there's the homemade vanilla ice cream.  They don't do it every year, but they have the last couple of years.  They begin making it before people even arrive; by about 7:30 pm, it's ready.  If there's any leftover berry pie, you can put them together... or even grab a can of root beer and concoct a float... but it's almost a crime to do anything to the ice cream, it's so good all by itself.



Before, I said that there wasn't a whole lot for little kids to do at U.D.'s house.  But there were a few things.  We could watch adults play horseshoes.  We could attempt to play in the horseshoe pits, and get scolded ("That is NOT a sandbox!")  And as we got older, we could actually attempt the game itself.  I am absolutely terrible at the game.  Just so everyone is aware.  Bleeping terrible.



And then there were the pseudo-fireworks.  After dinner, when I was a kid, one of the uncles (oftentimes Danny) would light off some simple fireworks on a large, flat piece of wood in the backyard.  (Sometimes we'd do them out in the street as well.)  The infamous pagoda firework was one that got lit early.  Also, Danny had this one kind that would launch these things into the air, and they would come down as parachutes -- little paper parachutes.  It was a big deal to catch and/or find one as they landed.  If you got one, you could consider yourself special.



This year, they just did a lot of smoke bombs.  Still, it kept the little kids amused.  The rest of us just tried to breathe properly as the smoke drifted toward the picnic area.



Nearly every year, we set up the volleyball net and play numerous games.  The boundaries are never clear, so nobody ever knows for sure if the ball really did go out.  The net is so old, there are big holes in it, and balls don't bounce off it, but still we play.  Sometimes the volleyball will go over the neighbor's fence, and we'll send one of the younger kids over to fetch it.  Little kids will often join the game, and then you know your team is doomed.  This year, to distract my 3-year-old cousin from getting underfoot in the game, I told him he could take a picture of himself with my digital camera.



That was the result!