Parade Hex 2

In the last couple of years the onslaught had been full on. People had actually come to her very door and offered her money for her cottage; and lots of it at that. They craned their necks while speaking, trying to get a better look inside. Marveling that the place was nearly untouched- un- modernized- virgin post contact era territory. Even tho they would yank out her wood range like an old tooth and put the stainless "over there". She slammed the door in their faces. Little did they know what had been cooked on that stove over the years.
The 4th dawned grey and muggy. Clara opened her eyes and felt the heavy air coming in her bedroom window off the water. Under the low eves the clamminess had settled on her like a thin cotton blanket.
Before the movement of her legs roused Tabby the cat, she heard it. The first clanging of aluminum tent poles hitting the pavement. They were here.
Clara sprang out of bed sending Tabby flying. Clara bent to look out the low window- across the street- just in time to see the big bubba turn up the volume on the red neck radio station. Little bubba and several bubba children were the ones clattering the tent poles, trying to erect the canopy off the side of the camper. Female bubba was loading the first case of beer into the cooler. She popped a top and took a long pull. It wasn't yet 6 a.m. The blood pressure rose in Clara's ears. "God damned sons of bitches. I'll fix your sorry asses for ya this year".
No one would be coming to the lawn for a parade picnic this year. This year Clara had begged off her parade hostess duties to the disappointment of her cronies. This year Clara had other plans.
"Come on Tabby- lets go downstairs and get breakfast before you run off to hide in the basement for the day. You may have some company down there this year."
Clara fired up the wood range even tho the heat was already gathering in the house. She put on the old tea kettle and poured some milk into Tabby's bowl. Both of them jumped in their skins as a boom of hillbilly music blared into the air. 6:15.
The street was filling up. Blankets were spread on the sidewalks; lawnchairs, coolers and people people people, were packing in to every available inch of space. It would be a good five hours before the parade got down this end. A long time to kill while guarding your spot. Some slept on their blankets, some read, some took a promenade up and down the street a ways. The rednecks settled in with their beer. More came to join them and a pickup game of basketball against the side of the camper began. Whomp whomp whomp yell- over and over.
Every little while Clara stole to the front window and watched them. "What asses. How dare they come here from out of town and ruin our day?" Tabby jumped up on the sill and rubbed back and forth on her Mother's arms.
"Now my sweet girl-I want you to do like I told you. Remember how we practiced?" Tabby glared her own look at the bubbas through yellow slitted eyes before she hopped down and ran back toward the kitchen. The basement door was ajar and she ran down the steep steps. Quick quick she was back up again with something wiggling in her teeth. A fat mouse squealed in terror. Tabby's jaws closed hard and the mouse went limp. Clara had replaced the breakfast kettle with an old enamel pot on the wood range. Tabby flung the mouse into the boiling brew in the pot and gave Clara a satisfied smirk. She lifted her head for a stroke. "Good Girl!" This route was redone several more times until a pot full of little bloated bodies roiled in the enamel pot. All the while Clara added a dash of this and a pinch of that, muttering unknown words as she worked; smiling for the first time all day.

Parade Hex

Spring was cold again this year. Not quite as wet as last year, but each day we got out of bed and poked our noses out to see if it was warmer yet. Only one day in all of June was almost 90 degrees and then the next morning it was back down in the 40's at first light. What happens with years like this is it makes for a short summer. If we can include the last half of June and the first half of September it's a good year. Then we can stretch our slim paradise of Summer to three months. To add to the lateness of Spring's arrival, the children were released late from school as well. A mere week before the 4th of July. In that last week town swings into extra high gear.

American flags bloom up and down Hope and High with the neighbors in an unspoken competition of who's flag is the oldest or the biggest. Someone on High St is always winner of the "biggest" division with the one that hangs across the sidewalk from the corner of the house to the top of the utility pole and reaches nearly to the ground. I noticed this year a disgruntled dog walker tied a knot in it.



The Carnival pulled onto the common and all the townies go the first night because it's "Dollar Night". Let the tourists go the rest of the week and pay $4.00 bucks a pop. If you live on the parade route forget about a full nights sleep for a few days. You're lucky if you make it to 3 a.m. because the street sweeper is out making sure the freshly painted red white and blue lines stay clean. Then there's the partying that goes on all night the night before and then after the day of festivities there's the clean up. The town does a very good job of clean up.

Also, it seems, a blind eye is turned to public drinking. If your cocktail of choice fits in a coffee mug we don't seem to notice that you get louder and wobblier as the day goes on.

In certain spots along the two and a half mile parade route campers pull in and set up shanty town for twenty four hours. During this period the drinking is non-stop. If you have the bad fortune to abut one of these areas, your patience is stretched to the limit.

If you are not from here, let me try to have you understand the importance of the parade. For two and a fifth consecutive centuries-with a very few exceptions for war and pestilence that we forgive- people here have marched down the street with musical instruments and guns on the fourth of July. Balls and beauty contests, picnics and fireworks and band concerts of every ilk lead up to the parade every year. Planning is a year round production and to be chosen Grand Marshall is akin to being elected President. This is no small small town parade.



One year the patience of town resident snapped and here is where the tale begins.



One bunch of camper revelers comes to the same spot every year. It's the parking lot of a posh waterfront restaurant who's owner has the good sense not to open on parade day. Directly across the street the land rises in a slight bank. In the middle of a row of old houses sits a Cape style cottage set back a little and three quarters hidden in an overgrowth of hedgerow and wild antique plants.
Every year for the last twenty; Clara, who lived in the cottage, had been driven crazy by this same group. Every year her 4th of July was ruined by these slobs. This year she was ready for them.
Clara is a native and her foremothers have been here for all the generations since white people set foot on Mt. Hope. She had watched the town be changed time and again by new comers moving in with their ideas of how the town could be "Better".