A lot of families have traditions, especially when it comes to entertainment and attractions. My family is no different, and that is why you will find my herd in down town Bayview, Idaho every year on the first Saturday in July.
At this juncture you might be thinking what possible reason would a person want to wander to Bayview for? Well, aside from the fact that small little Bayview, Idaho, a gorgeous town on the bay of Idaho's deepest lake, is full of welcoming, rustic charm, gorgeous scenery, and a fantastic history that included a secret visit by President Franklin D. Roosevelt, houses a naval acoustical and submarine research station, and is on the edge of Farragut State Park, it also happens hosts a little festival every year that coincides with the Fourth of July. This festival is named after the feeling you get upon attending it: Bayview Daze
The cool thing about Bayview Daze is they launch fireworks off of a barge in the amazing harbor that the town adorns the shores of. Due to the rotation of our calendar, and the fireworks of Bayview Daze occuring on the first Saturday of July, this means most years my flock and I get two fireworks watching opportunities during Independence Day week. There is something magical about the scent of sulfur and magnesium wafting through one's nostrils.
Although I am a sucker for exploding chemical arrays of patriotic expression, there are other aspects of Bayview Daze that makes a trip down to the neighboring burg worth the 15 mile drive. We always start our visit with a walk through the little group of vendor stalls that line the street by the harbor. Once a couple of bags of kettle corn and a huckleberry milkshake or two have been collected we wander up the hill to our "spot".
Our "spot" is a grassy knoll that overlooks the Bitter End Marina. When my children were small fry aged they used to roll down the perfect patch of sloping grass like drunken pirates descending a gang plank. In the spirit of disclosure one 
These days my children are in the tween stage, so they are not yet running around like heat seeking hormonal missiles, rather they are content to lounge in our presence just chilling and talking to us and stuff. Weird. One of our local peeps gave my daughter some henna tattoo ink, which was really thoughtful as I could use the orange glow off of our kid's hands as a nightlight to find my way back to the car. My two offspring were ink entertained for hours.
The Knoll is where a lot of locals come to watch the fireworks, drink cold refreshing beverages, and watch the young people engage in twitter-pated behavior. One teenage girl from Nebraska really missed her calling on an episode of Wild America as she almost suffered multiple mammary gland exposure accidents jumping up and down in an attempt to select the most suitable mate. I actually was impressed with her determination as I saw her flirting aggressively with no less than five guys in a one hour period.
As it was over ninety there were many, many interesting lack of clothing choices. A very spirited discussion ensued between my family as we debated the pros and cons of why shorts should always be longer than your lady bits, if denim shorts chaffed one's beer belly, what it does to your circulation if your skinny jeans are so tight that you can see one's veins, and if I should buy some yoga pants just for fun because it would embarrass my spawn. Good times.
At around nine p.m. the lighted boat parade ensues and my favorite moment is when a little boat shot a, no joke, cannon of off it's bow. As the cannon exploded and echoed off of the mountains surrounding the harbor, so did this woman's mouth explode behind us. She screamed a common word for fecal matter and fell out of her camp chair. I'm pretty sure she split her yoga pants too, so maybe that's why she uttered the elimination curse, that cannon shot was shocking enough to cause bowel evacuation. I kept my eyes forward and nose upwind.
By the time the fireworks began at ten we were all sorts of excited. Every time one of the mortars of freedom exploded in the night sky, the inebriated Millennials below us shouted, "Murica" and I just know somewhere there was an eagle crying out of gratitude over the trendy microbrew caused chorus of patriotic elation. iPhones and Androids a filming filled the knoll with digital candle light, and screaming babies and children provided an acoustical background track between mortar explosions. It was, like every year previous, a magical experience.
I held husband's hand while I inserted commentary as the chemical explosions lit the night sky. One of my favorite fireworks is what I like to call "Bees in the Car". It's the mortar that looks like bees swarming a poor soul in a Buick or house flies in your Grandma's kitchen. You know you are doing something right when your narrations cause the people around you to laugh. The "Dying Houseflies" observation elicited giggles as well. So did the triple M, The Monsterous Mescaline Mortar. I promise all I had to drink was iced tea.
The display this year was the best that I had ever seen in my fifteen years of attendance. It was truly impressive, and as I gathered up our blankets, camp chairs, and henna bedecked offspring, I found my mug was lit up, not by the glow from the burning sparkler that some kids were waving precariously close to my hair, but out of sheer joy as to have experienced, once again, a bit of family time with my family, friends, and community.
And as always, all of the images in this post were taken on the author's sticky from kettle corn fingers iPhone.
