July Traditions: Out with the old, in with the new

The month of July has always been one of my favorites…I’d say top 11 even (sorry January.)

When I was but a whippersnapper, July was spent in Butte, America, celebrating both my country’s independence as well as my Grandpa Hebert’s birthday. Though my family and I lived throughout the country during my formative years, it seems as if more often than not we spent the Independence weekend in Butte eating pasties and porkchop sandwiches, watching Evel Knievel motor down the road during the parade and, at some point, Uncle Karl tossing an errant horseshoe – following to many cans of Hamm’s – in the direction of a flock of unaware relatives. The night was always capped off with a brilliant firework display shot from the Big M at Dusk.

Everyone has their Fourth of July traditions and I miss my days of yore. Unfortunately, some traditions fade away with time. At some point in my youth, Grandpa Hebert built a giant garage in his backyard on Elm St. and we couldn’t see the fireworks very well anymore (a fact that uncle Karl never failed to point out as he whipped horseshoes around the neighborhood.) Evel stopped riding in the parade, Joe’s Pork Chops lost a bit of luster and then Grandpa passed away. It has been over 20 years since I have spent the Fourth in Butte, but I remember our trips their as if they were yesterday.

The great thing about traditions is that when one fades another one comes into focus. As I sit in my living room typing this column, I am fresh off the heels of laying out the pictures I took in Zortman on Saturday afternoon. It is the second year that I have spent the day in the mountains with the folks in Zortman and that is a tradition I look forward to spending with my family and new friends for years to come. The people there are friendly, the hot dogs are free and the mosquitoes – the one or two who found me – were Gandhi like in their passiveness. Thanks for having me, gang.

A brand new tradition that my gals and me found last night was watching the Malta firefighters set off the fireworks while we sat in a dugout at Trafton. The concussion from the high-grade fireworks leaving their launching pads was worth the drive down to the park. They shook the ground and got the blood pumping. The low-flying firework which exploded yards above our firefighter’s heads was both frightening and beautiful (and luckily no one was injured.) The sound of the explosions echoing down Hi-Way 2 was also impressive. My wife, daughter and I relived the event for the next hour after the show and the conversion ended only when that massive storm blew through town (a show in itself.)

I hope you and yours had a happy and safe Independence Day and that you got to relive old traditions and start a few new ones.