The Fourth of July is one of those holidays that can get pretty big if you let it.
Two hundred and fifty years of America. Fireworks. Flags. Freedom. History. Big words. Big ideas.
And all of that matters.
But around here, the Fourth still feels a little smaller than that in the best possible way.
It feels like lawn chairs unfolding on the curb.
It feels like somebody saving a spot for family at the parade.
It feels like kids with pockets full of candy they picked up off Main Street.
It feels like church groups, fire trucks, old tractors, police cruisers, Shriners, marching bands, baseball caps, sunglasses, and somebody’s grandpa standing quietly when the flag goes by.
That’s the version of the Fourth I’ve always liked best.
Not the made-for-TV version.
The lived-in version.
The one that belongs to small towns.
Maybe that is because small towns still understand something important about holidays in general and the Fourth of July in particular: they are not really about putting on a show. They are about gathering. They are about seeing one another. They are about being reminded, even for a couple of hours, that we have more in common than not.
That sounds simple.
It is simple.
And simple is underrated.
There is something comforting about the way our towns do this holiday. Every place has its own spin on it, but the ingredients are usually familiar. A parade route that people know by heart. A park that fills up by late afternoon. A fireworks show that starts a little later than the kids want it to. Music in the background. Food somewhere nearby. Neighbors waving at neighbors. People running into folks they haven’t seen in a while and picking up the conversation like no time has passed at all.
That is a pretty good way to celebrate a country.
Especially this year.
With America marking 250 years, there will be no shortage of reminders about the scale of it all. The history. The sacrifice. The ideals. The unfinished work. The gratitude. The responsibility.
All of that belongs in the conversation.
But I would argue that some of the best parts of America are still easiest to see at the local level.
You see it in the volunteer who helps set up chairs.
You see it in the veterans riding through town.
You see it in the family that comes out year after year.
You see it in the parents trying to keep up with little kids on sugar highs.
You see it in the familiar ritual of people claiming their spot and waiting for dark.
You see it in the fact that, even now, with all the noise in the world, people still make time to come together for something as old-fashioned as a parade and fireworks.
That matters.
If you’re still figuring out your plans, folks can get a full list of area observances on our site at wrbiradio.com/area-fireworks. There is plenty going on across the region, and that page will help you find a celebration close to home.
As for Annie and me, we’ll be at the Ripley County Chamber Night Fireworks Friday night at the fairgrounds in Osgood, and we’re looking forward to that. Then on Saturday morning, Annie and I will once again have the pleasure of serving as emcees for the Milan Fourth of July Parade, which is always a great tradition and one we’re proud to be part of.
That’s another thing about this weekend. A lot of us do not just attend these events. We participate in them. We help with them. We know the people putting them together. We understand that these celebrations do not happen by accident. Somebody organizes the lineup. Somebody handles the details. Somebody makes sure the sound works. Somebody coordinates the traffic. Somebody picks up the trash when it’s over.
And year after year, people do it.
Because it is worth doing.
Because traditions do not keep themselves alive.
Because small towns know that community is not just something you talk about. It is something you show up for.
So yes, the Fourth of July is about America.
But around here, it is also about Osgood. And Milan. And Batesville. And Greensburg. And Versailles. And Metamora. And all the other places where people still wave at each other, still line the streets for a parade, still sit outside waiting for fireworks, and still believe a holiday is better when it is shared.
That’s why I think the Fourth still belongs to small towns.
Not because small towns own patriotism.
But because they still know how to practice it in a way that feels human.
One lawn chair, one parade, one fireworks show at a time.