Member-only story
It’s the smells and sounds of summer that most enlivens my memories of our nation’s birthday: freshly cut grass, the cool early-morning breeze carrying hints of a barbecue a few yards over; and, the voice of my grandmother on the phone with her older sister discussing the likelihood of rain.
As hot as it was, it always seemed like rain was imminent.
Lying in the bed, basking in those final moments before the day would commence in earnest, quickly dissolving into a blur of anticipation and then action, the manic strumming of the cicadas would burrow into my memory — they were like a wind of sound.
The moment my grandmother finished speaking, concluding that the weather seemed like it might hold, I would toss the covers off of me and race down the steps.
Slowly, the house was coming to life with everybody feeling their own version of what I was — I wonder if they too had heard the cicadas enough to still recall them?
Despite the fact that each 4th revolved around basic core events, my sister’s birthday, large family barbecue (easily fifty people), swimming and then some odd assortment of fireworks, each celebration up until I was about…
