jongibbs  post  made me smile. All the more so since one of my ancestors, General Jacob Bayley (or Bailey as the family came to spell it), did his bit for independence, leading and financing the construction of what might be called a Road to Nowhere, the 54-mile Bayley-Hazen Road that began in Newbury, Vermont, on the Connecticut River, and ended short of its goal, the Quebec border. Family lore has it that the Federal Government never repaid the funds spent on their behalf. The more things change... and all that.

Jon's post also made me think about Fourth of July traditions. What will you be doing tomorrow?

My family will be watching our town's parade, which will include floats by the historical society and other civic groups, marching Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts, Rotarians, the American Legion, antique cars, and the town vehicles--fire trucks and ambulances. The neighbors will also be there, represented by firetrucks from their towns. The marching music will be provided by the nearby parochial school band, but not the high school band, which has been the source of some disgruntlement in certain parties. There'll also be a family of bagpipers, marching far enough back so as not to frighten the horses, and a fife and drum corps from a re-enactment group.

When the parade ends, we'll head over to the Fun Fair, for more music--Cajun, and rock played by two local brothers and their friends. We'll sample a variety of food and I'll enjoy my one-and-only fried dough of the year, drizzled with maple syrup. We'll catch up with people we don't often see and when we've had our fill, we'll head home.

It's like, and yet not like, the Fourths of my childhood, which began in the afternoon with an inter-town baseball game, with horseshoe matches off to the side. (My father would play against a guy with the charming knickname of "Horsecaller.") Come 5 pm, we'd all line up at the church for The World's Best Chicken Barbecue, with quarters grilled slow and sprayed with a vinaigrette for hours by the Fire Department. It would be served with potato salad, homemade rolls, coleslaw, and for us kids, homemade rootbeer brewed by Frances Randall, and a selection of pies and cakes for dessert, sometimes strawberry shortcake. After supper, we'd head back to the ball field, the cars lining up on the slope, all facing the far corner. Down to the side, the concession stand would be serving all manner of sweet or salty treats, where we'd buy popcorn, the way we never did at the movies. When it finally grew dark, the fireworks began, some flowering in the sky, others--Catherine Wheels and waterfalls--at ground level. Each brought a chorus of "ooohs" and "aaaahs." The Stars and Stripes, glowing and hissing their red, white and blue, signaled the end of the show. The car horns honked their thanks and goodnights, and we bumped across the grass back out to the road, followiing the stream of white and red that diminished as cars turned off, everyone headed for home.

Wherever you are, may your celebration of democracy be festive!