4th on 5th

You likely know that Sonoma, California, enjoys a reputation for delicious wines and vineyards marching up the hillsides and restaurants where you can enjoy a decent meal and a climate that imitates Provence and Tuscany and the Northern Sporades Islands of Greece.  You are not likely to know that Sonoma, California, knows how to do 4th of July ridiculously well.

On the morning of the 4th, half the town assembles in the Vet Building hparking lot to form up and parade around the town Plaza, two blocks distant. The other half of the town packs the Plaza sidewalks ten deep to watch their friends march past and to hope that some of the candy chucked from floats and truck beds and hot rods lands on them.  Representatives of the Sonoma P. D. patrol the street verges encouraging spectators not to surge out too far, but adolescent boys ooze back out as soon as the fuzz passes by. And intercept 90% of the candy.

The Town Band blares past with its brass and drums celebrating the work of John Philip Sousa.  Forty minutes later the Other Town Band struts by, playing from the same songbook.  I am embarrassed to confess that I watched the annual parade half-a-dozen times before realizing that the two bands were actually one band circling the Plaza twice, with a different placard up front for their second revolution.  

Dad!  Jeez!  It’s the same band!

Oh.  Well, OK.  Duh.

In between the two bands march all manner of service organizations and school groups and small business start-ups looking for a lap-around-the-square’s worth of free advertising.  This year for the the first time a brown UPS truck made the circuit.  A UPS truck!  The Montessori School of Sonoma also made an entry this year to celebrate its fiftieth birthday.  When we moved here in 1987 both Kate and Tucker enrolled there and found best friends, in Kate’s case, Sarah Vaughn, daughter of school Director Cathy Vaughn.  Kate and Sarah marched together in the Montessori contingent yesterday and dragged grandson Jack along for a ride on the float.  When Jack spotted us on the curb, he made his break for it.  Having staged in the parking lot for two hours .  .  .  Enough already!  I’m outa here!

After the parade everyone disperses for hours of digestive abuse in back yards and on patios.  Hot dogs.  Cheeseburgers.  Potato salad.  Maybe a beer or two.  And then .  .  . And then  .  .  !  The fireworks!  Weeks ago the fire department mowed the ginormous field behind the Congregational Church, and spent the 3rd saturating the stubble with their hoses.  Then, on the afternoon of the 4th they deployed an arsenal of mortar-like fireworks canisters on the bike path.  Finally, when the absolute last gloaming of dusk had winked away around 9:30 pm .  .  .  Foom!  Whoosh!  Bang!  And a sky full of every color on the spectrum and also many colors never imagined by Mother Nature. Friends I am here to tell you that our little farm town does world class fireworks.  No bias in that assertion.  Simple fact.

Over the years all manner of relatives and friends have showed up here to celebrate the 4th on 5th Street at Camp Hutch.  On one of those past 4th’s we invented jungle bocce out in the orchard.  My favorite shot:  a lob over the roof of the pump house.

Today is the 5th on 5th and we are sprawled on chaises and lawn chairs like banana slugs remembering another 4th on 5th well-spent and feeling grateful for the blessings of this town and of our families.