Oops! Jumped the Fireworks!

The fireworks came and it wasn’t even the Fourth of July.  The town exploded shortly after it was announced that there would be no fireworks allowed in the community for the celebration of our nation’s 250^th birthday.  That original news was received with great joy by many.  Those veterans with PTSD rejoiced.  There would be no explosions to trigger traumatic memories of combat experience.  Those with small children and babies who are sensitive to loud noises ruining their bedtimes . . . same with the old folks wanting to go to bed early—they rejoiced.  Those with pets, especially dogs, who hear loud noises six to eight times louder than humans and are scared into panic.  They rejoiced, knowing there would be peace and calm.  For a moment there was great joy . . . but only for a moment.

Then the fireworks began.

 

Social media blew up attacking and ridiculing the town, the council, and mayor.  Like a scorned lover they beat a path to town hall like the villagers storming Frankenstein’s castle.  The only things missing were the pitchforks and flaming torches.  Wisely they left those in their pickups.  For seven days the campaign was waged.  The battle was referred to as “lively discussion”.  Of course, that description depended on which side of the discussion you were on.  Needless to say, it escalated to the point that it blurred the lines of civility and mayhem.

 

Mayhem won.

 

Seven days after the town announced its fireworks ban the mayor rescinded the ban.  Fireworks were back in business.  The mob patted itself on the back.  The noisiest wheel had gotten greased.  A different joy filled the air pushing the brief exhilaration of the previous declaration to the side of the road.  The veterans mourned.  The parents and elderly sighed.  Pet owners were sad.  Fourth of July without fireworks was lost. The noise and chaos had won.

 

I count myself among those who grieve over losing a noiseless celebration of the Fourth of July.  I’ll be drugging one of my pups to relieve her fear and anxiety.  We will sit in the basement with the television loudly blaring in hope that between the mindbenders and competing noise she will feel safe and calm.  It is sad that we will become prisoners in our own home to satisfy the need of a few wanting to blow up something.  But, hey!  That is the American way.

 

In the original declaration of banning fireworks, the town council cited fire concerns.  That is a legitimate concern.  Montana has been in a drought for over a year.  We have entered the “fire season”.  With the lack of snow in the winter and sparse rain in the spring things are drier than usual.  The risk of fire is real.  Check out the fires in Colorado, Utah, and California.  As I write this there is a 6,000-acre fire just down the road south of us in between the communities of Bridger and Fromberg.  The council’s decision was reasonable.  The risk was too great.  The council thought better of it.  A resolution was made.  Debate ensued among the council.  The question was raised and the vote was taken.  The resolution passed.

 

For a few of the seven days there had been the possibility of rain.  Calling what was actually received would be generous.  In totality there was only .12 inches of moisture.  A little over a tenth of an inch.    It was what some folks would call a “nine-inch rain” . . . nine inches between every drop.  It wasn’t exactly the deluge of Noah’s epic flood, but it represented a flood in the minds of the local pyromaniacs.  God was telling them, “to go forth and blow things up to your hearts’ content.”  Truly, a tenth of moisture was good enough for shooting off fireworks they argued . . . and argued . . . and argued.

 

Worn by the tenacity of the assault, the mayor—not the town council—removed the ban.

 

Though fire risk and lack of moisture were the reasons behind the ban, the real focus was more theoretical and political.  Those in favor of fireworks felt their freedom and constitutional rights were being attacked and taken away.  It was their “right” to light fireworks and blow up the town.  I checked my copy of the Constitution—both state and federal, and I could not find where it talked about the freedom to shoot off fireworks.  It was claimed that this was the first step toward tyranny—a fireworks ban! I wonder where in the hell they have been since the incumbent president has run amuck over our country, its constitution, and citizen’s freedom for the past 18 months.  I guess that is another day and debate.  None the less, they turned the argument political.

 

Those who were for fireworks were America’s defenders.  True patriots.  Those against the fireworks were libtards, communists, socialists, and anti-America.  Unpatriotic.  They pointed fingers and declared a conspiracy to overthrow the president and government.  Besides it is the Semiquincentennial of the United States of America—the 250^th birthday!  That is enough cause to blow up the town.  It was a patriotic duty and damn all those communistic and socialistic libtards!  If they don’t like it, they can leave America . . . or at least town for the Fourth.  The mayor passively aggressively noted that “right” in declaring the ban removed in a letter to the community.

 

Rain and politics are debatable.  Yet the crux of the problem was actually simple . . . the rules.  In their benevolent desire to appease what many would rather have—a Fourth of July void of fireworks, they got the cart before the horse.  The decision did not follow protocol.  Those in the community who live and die by the letter of the law when it is in their favor discovered that.    As caring as the original resolution was, it was for naught.  There were those who gleefully pointed it out to the mayor and town council.

 

And they were right.  Procedure was not followed.  Notice of the resolution was not made public (it was a spur of the moment thing).  Public hearings on the resolution were not had.  It was not on the agenda for the public to witness.  Technically the resolution and vote were not legal.  Technically it was null and voided out the gate.  The restoration of fireworks was decreed and quickly made.  The town, the council, and mayor did not need the mess this whole fiasco created.

 

Though I was madder than a wet hen upon learning the fireworks were restored, I did calm down by the end of the day.  I’m disappointed in the mayor’s decision, but I also understand the ramifications if the decision had not been made.  I’m sadden because I believe that more townspeople lean towards a firework ban for the Fourth of July celebration than the willful noise assault of exploding fireworks.  I feel for my dogs who must be drugged for their sanity and safety.  I pray for the veterans with PTSD that they are safe and not thrown back into the horrific trauma of the conflicts they experienced.  I wish the parents of children and babies the best of luck in getting their kids to sleep.  And those elderly . . . I guess they are on their own.  We lost.

 

To the victors go the spoils.  Freedom and individual rights have been served.  The communistic socialist assault on our nation and its liberty has been repelled.  The libtards have been put in their place. Freedom rings.  Fireworks have been redeemed to their sacred place.  Life is back to normal.  God will watch over us all . . . God will keep us safe.  After all, we are God’s chosen people . . . chosen nation.  We are the United States of America.  God’s favorites.  The president said so.  Damn the rest.  They are on their own.  Let the fireworks begin . . .

 

. . . I hope it rains.

 

Fireworks!

It hasn’t been a particularly quiet week in town.  The tourist traffic has been picking up as people from near and far scurry to head up Highway 212 to Yellowstone National Park over the Beartooth Pass.  Charles Kuralt said that the Beartooth Pass was “the most beautiful drive in America”.  I would not argue with Charles.  It is beautiful.  In my estimation it would be more beautiful without all the tourists.  I do not get a say in the matter and besides it is the economic lifeline for some of the communities along the way.  People need to make a living even if it is an inconvenience to others.  Despite the increased noise from all the motorcycles and recreational vehicles burning up the pavement through town . . . it has been a fairly quiet week in town despite the Fourth of July observance lurking down the road. 

Life has been good.  The weather has been cooperative and mild, allowing folks to get out in their yards.  Grass is greening up.  Flowers have been rallying and blooming to create a feast of color.  The birds are singing up a storm.  People are walking their dogs allowing them the opportunity to check out the daily “pee mail” and send return messages.  Vacation Bible School is happening at one of the local churches—a respite for harried parents tired of hearing the chorus, “I’m bored!” from their children.  Life is ambling along in town as summer kicks off and establishes itself for the next couple of months.  The pace is slow and easy.  Life is good.

 

Or at least it was.

 

Small towns thrive on “word of mouth”.  Whether true or not, community members get their information through the grapevine—casual conversations at the post office or bank, while pumping fuel at the gas station, sharing a meal at the senior center, coming out of the grocery store, or talking around coffee during fellowship following church—wherever people gather.  Rarely is it through “official” channels.  Often it is “I heard . . .”  Some might call it “gossip” but around here and other small towns it is the “line of communication”

 

Even though town council meetings are regularly scheduled happenings announced to the community—date, time, location, and agenda—they always seem to come as a surprise to the locals.  That’s what happened this week interrupting the tranquility and quietness with great grumbling and lament—near biblical proportions, I might add.  At its monthly meeting the council met, discussed, and decided that there would be no fireworks within the town limits this Fourth of July.  Zero fireworks.  They made their decision based on an increased fire hazard in the area . . . after all we have entered the “fire season” in Montana.  The resolution was on the public agenda made available and posted in public places two weeks prior to the meeting.  It was there for all to see.  Beyond those obligated to be there—council members and town employees—no one else attended.  The decision was made.  On Wednesday morning it was announced: NO FIREWORKS. 

 

That set the fireworks off—symbolically speaking.

 

Since the news went public the moaning, groaning, and whining have escalated.  The keyboard warriors have been burning up the town’s Facebook page.  Cries of government oppression!  Freedom denied!  Civil rights trampled upon!   Conspiracy abounds!  Those damn liberal Democrats! Which is a weird one when I am fairly certain that the whole town council is Republican.  Forced Communism and Socialism!  Social media has exploded and gone wild with the loudest complaints, not being townspeople or even from the state of Montana.  Accusations of secretly railroading the resolution through were made even though—like clockwork—the council put the agenda out two weeks prior to the meeting.  Apparently, no one reads it.  It hadn’t hit the gossip mill.  The people felt blindsided.

 

Truth be told, I believe that those who lament the loudest are in the minority.  It was a long time coming.  The complaints had been piling up for years.  In town there are several veterans with PTSD who leave the week of Fourth of July to avoid reoccurring trauma.  The noise and constant booming of the fireworks trigger flashbacks to their war experience.  Pet owners complained.  Pets run off and get lost . . . they hide under beds and other furniture . . . their anxiety shoots through the roof.  Owners book their pets into out-of-town kennels, purchase drugs to calm their nerves, or pack them up and head out of town for a few days.  Fireworks are hell on pets.  Parents of small children, especially infants—have spoken up . . . they cannot get their little ones to sleep.  The elderly have joined the chorus.  For years there have been more complaints than support.  The handful of pyromaniacs are outnumbered . . .

 

. . . but they whine the loudest.

 

One of the accusations against those who favor the riddance of fireworks is that they are “unpatriotic”.  I never understood that—unpatriotic?  How is blowing up the neighborhood and town “patriotic”?  Flying the American flag is “patriotic”.  Taking part in a parade celebrating the Fourth of July is “patriotic”.  Singing the National Anthem is “patriotic”.  Saying the Pledge of Allegiance is “patriotic”.  Supporting veterans . . . voting in elections . . . attending town council meeting . . . all “patriotic”.  Blowing up the neighborhood or town is not “patriotic” in my book.  Patriotism has nothing to do with fireworks.

 

But it’s the semiquincentennial of our nation!  Our nation’s 250^th birthday.  Most people cannot even pronounce the work much less spell it.  Big deal!  We are another year older.  It doesn’t mean we need to blow something up.  My high school class is celebrating its 50^th reunion this fall.  We are the Class of 1976.  We are not gathering and blowing up something.  We are too old for that.  Instead, we will gather at some venue, eat dinner, drink and listen to our generation’s music, dance a little, while sitting around reminiscing about the “good old days”.  We won’t be comparing explosives and blowing things up.  When I hit my semicentennial birthday, I did not blow up the house or anything else.  I was just happy that I made it to my 50^th birthday.

 

The semiquincentennial is just a marker along the journey.  A point of reference and remembrance.  As a nation we are still working our way down the road—in the big picture of the world, 250 years is not that remarkable.  The United States of America is a mere infant when it comes to longevity and age.  Iran, Egypt, Vietnam, Armenia, North Korea, China, India, Afghanistan, Israel, Greece, Japan, Ethiopia, France Croatia, Norway, and Bulgaria have thousands of years on us—THOUSANDS!  Even the “teens” of civilization—Denmark, Austria, Hungry, Portugal, Switzerland, Spain, the United Kingdom all have a few hundred years on us.  They are amused at our celebration because we are basically the “new kids on the block” at 250 years old.  They don’t understand this fascination of going around blowing things up to celebrate a birthday.

 

There is a crack in the town’s placidness entering the week of the Fourth of July.  There will be no fireworks this year.  For some it will be a black mark on the town’s history.  For the rest it will be the day the noise died.  I count myself among those who will relish the proposed peaceful quietness of a firework-less holiday.  So do my dogs . . . my neighbors with babies . . . the veterans with PTSD . . . and those attempting to go to bed at a decent time.

 

I am thankful to the representatives on the town council who represent our community for revoking fireworks this year.  Thankful that the human quality of taking the easy way out led to no one reading the announcement of the council’s agenda prior to the meeting.  Surprisingly the majority have spoken and announced that there is no need to blow something up to celebrate our nation’s 250th birthday or whatever it is called. Thankful that I can fly my flag, stand for the national anthem, say the pledge, wear red-white-blue to my heart’s content, watch baseball, eat hot dogs, and ride in my Chevrolet, and still be considered a patriot even without fireworks.  As a nation we have come this far so far, but we still have a long way to go.  I am thankful and I didn’t even have to blow anything up.  Yeah, it’s been a semi-quiet week in town and in a couple of weeks we will be back to normal . . . at least until next year’s celebration.