Another Day in the Country
Hunting for the hoopla
© Another Day in the Country
As part of my keeping-connected mode, I text my family members almost every day and tell them what I’m doing.
On Monday, I wrote, “I’m heading to Burdick, in 100-degree heat, to watch their Labor Day parade by myself.”
I sent them pictures of flags and old cars.
“More hoopla than here!” my son-in-law responded.
“I had to hunt for the hoopla,” I answered.
What is it that would inspire a person to drive 20 miles during a heat wave to sit outside and watch a bunch of fire trucks drive by?
For sure it wasn’t the candy. It was so hot those Tootsie Rolls they usually toss would melt on contact with blacktop.
But here I was driving into a little one-horse town to watch its annual Labor Day parade.
I’m a sucker for a good parade any time of year.
I’ve stood on a street corner, freezing to death, in Lawrence, watching its horse-drawn parade after Thanksgiving.
I’ve watched the Christmas parade in Calistoga at night, with all entries lit by battery power.
I have seen 4-H parades in Herington, Chingawassa Days parades in Marion, Fourth of July parades in Washington, D.C., to name a few.
We organized parades for Fourth of July in Ramona for years. We built all kinds of floats, signed everybody up, handed out prizes, and drummed up hoopla until we ran out of energy.
I’m past organizing a parade but I can still be a spectator, and that’s the magic ingredient — an audience, a crowd. Even if it’s on a blistering hot afternoon, stalwarts come to cheer and chat.
When we came to Kansas, we discovered that parades in most towns consisted of fire trucks, tractors, a sheriff’s car, and thrown candy.
We always wanted something more.
“Why are we so drawn to a parade?” I wondered.
Then I pretty much answered my own question. I was looking for a little excitement. It was a holiday, after all. We want to see people we recognize, have something to cheer about, see flags and banners, and hear a band playing — even if it’s just coming from a boom box.
When I got to Burdick, I found a slice of shade beside the road and opened the door of my air-conditioned car.
Whew, it was hot out there. Every little overhang along the main street was prime real estate for lawn chairs in an otherwise pretty quiet town.
I watched guys from the American Legion or the Veterans of Foreign Wars, whoever it is that starts things off, bringing flags down the street to line up.
They were in uniform, already sweating, but here to support.
That’s another reason we come to parades. We’re all here to line up. Whether it’s down the street or along the edges, we’re here to support.
A family went by with a wagon full of kids, mom carrying her own shade — an umbrella.
The shady spot I’d been watching across the street was filling up. The last chair that went down was on the absolute edge. If the guy moved his foot, it would be in the sun.
Two o’clock was approaching. We were all here — a community of people braving a heat wave to cheer for the flag, bump into our neighbors, and clap for the band.
We were waiting for the parade to start with great anticipation. People had their phones out, ready to take pictures.
I saw a few kids I knew from school — Dayton and his family, Charlie keeping pace with the older guys, Trevor with his big sister, Jackson dragging an oversized water gun, looking for his people.
Excitement was in the air.
We were having a parade because it was Labor Day, and who knew what we would see.
Karaoke speakers sitting by the roadside came to life with a crackling sound. I couldn’t understand much of anything they said, but here came the flag, and everyone stood.
There were two live bands, and they sounded good! There were two floats (defined as some decorations either on a trailer or in the bed of a pickup). One featured a flag and flowers honoring 47 veterans buried in the local cemetery. The other honored the town of Nazareth with a cross and a banner proclaiming, “Small town, big Impact!” Those floats were timeless and thought-provoking.
I counted eight fire trucks, three tractors, three antique cars, several trucks advertising everything from propane to politicians, and three riders on horseback at the end of the line.
There we had it — another Labor Day parade, some ice cream, a snow cone, a wave to a neighbor, a chat with a friend. I took a few pictures but missed the best one as I drove out of town.
You’ll have to imagine it. There was no traffic on the road. I turned left; they turned right — a horse with a young girl in the saddle, leaving all the excitement behind, heading slowly back home after the parade was over. “Been there; done that,” on just another day in the country.