the best darn 4th of July in America, part 1

To my knowledge, I've never missed a Wenonah 4th of July.

A little town about one mile square, Wenonah thrives on its history as a former vacation resort and rail town, not far from Philly. Revolutionary War-era homes dot the town, but it's most noted for its big, stately Victorian homes. In the eighties, Yuppies moved in, took out huge loans, and fixed those babies up nicely. There's a whiff of snobbery in the air.

In the past several years, huge turkey vultures have descended on the town, ganging up on the roofs of some of these old homes, creating a distinct Gothic atmosphere. Nobody seems to know why they've come--there's no film crew nearby--but the residents don't mind. In fact, they've honored their presence by immortalizing them on the official 2006 Wenonah Fire Company Independence Day Celebration/Vulture Festival beer mug. (Spooky is in the background, clearly pissed that I've disturbed her nap.)

I cannot tell you what a huge honor this is for the vultures.

The day begins with 4 one-minute blasts of the fire siren, signaling everyone to start moving to town for the parade. And then the drinking starts. On wraparound front porches, in lush backyards, along the road of the parade...drinking, and lots of it. Wenonah is a dry town, and the display of public drinking is a cherished tradition.

The Waverunners are in the parade this year. Don drives the truck with some swimmers in the back, while the rest of us walk behind. He could've fit another swimmer in the truck, but the seat was already occupied by the industrial-size jug of mimosas.

Unfortunately, being in the parade means you pretty much miss the parade. As always, it's the hottest morning of the year; halfway down the route and we're all soaked. We throw candy; Kelly beans an elderly spectator in the rather ample backside with a tootsie roll. Nice shot, Kelly!

Although I don't live there now, Wenonah is my hometown, and I know quite a few people who live there. I walked happily down the street, waving at people, saying howdy, giving hugs...it was like I was running for mayor. Some of the other swim moms snarked that I should have my own float. Great idea! And you can drive it, bitch.

The patriotic ceremonies take place after parade. There are veterans involved. I don't know anything else about this event; I've never attended because the words "patriotic ceremonies" are just code for "boring." Schedule of events--8:45 am: PARADE; 11:am: BORING.

The games of athletic prowess continue after that. Peanut scramble, sack races, running races for the kids. The peanuts are the best damn peanuts you'll find anywhere; my boys know they'd better come back from that scramble with their bags brimming with peanuts or I'll lock them in the nearby portapot. (The one on the right is mine.)

While I enjoy watching my boys participate in the games, I'm itching to get to the firehouse, where the fire company volunteers generously donate their valuable time for the most important event of the day: the beer pouring. On a hot day with a thirsty crowd, the mug line stretches to the street and beyond, but the volunteers work quickly to move the line along. Beer manages to create instant love around the apron of the firehouse, turning your most hated 6th grade rival into your best friend, and making your best friend's son look mighty attractive for a 24-year-old.