Interstate Adventures

My sister’s favorite holiday is the Fourth of July in Warren, Vermont. So much so that we even flew our parents in from Florida to celebrate. When we all arrived at her place the evening before, she announced that we had to be up early to get over to Main Street and secure our viewing location. She got up at 6 a.m. before all of us to bake scones and organize her wagon with mimosas.

My sister and I were stalking the weather and we were reassured with no rain and no extreme heat forecasted. As instructed, the day started early shuttling eleven people to the spot in front of the post office. This is the place that she chooses every year. Her friends know to look for her and her scones.

My husband and I decided to ride the two miles to the parade so we could sleep in. As we left the house, the rain started to sprinkle. Since there were no showers in the forecast, we kept riding, sure it would stop. Within minutes the sky opened up and a steady rain fell.

By the time we arrived to the parade route barriers, the rain fell in a heavy stream and we were soaking wet. We hopped off our bikes and waded down the road past thousands of people under a deluge. Some people had umbrellas in a pointless attempt to stay dry. The rain came down so hard, even the umbrellas became saturated and could not do their job. The road was flooded and no one seemed to care.

The cannon sounded to signify the start of the parade. As it moved slowly down the road, you could barely see Bernie Sanders through a sheet of rain. He was followed by various groups marching, dancing, or pushing a float. We cheered for Mad River Seniors, local businesses like Sugarbush Mountain Resort, and dancing librarians pushing carts of drenched books. Anyone could join this parade.

The more floats and displays that came by, the heavier the rain got. Still, no one cared. Uncle Sam’s costume hung heavy with water. Abraham Lincoln sat inside his memorial as the columns tumbled from the weight of the rain. A giant replica of the reflecting pool in front of the Lincoln Memorial filled with so much rainwater, it became too heavy to carry. While the floats floated by, children were collecting as much candy as they could before it got washed away down the river of water that lined the entire street.

The rain let up only as the very tail end of the parade came by. By the time we rode the short trip back to the house, the sky was clear and we could dry our wet clothes out in the sun that was beginning to peek out. I thought about the spirit and tenacity of this crowd which usually draws at least ten thousand people in a town with only 1,977 residents. For some, weather like this would be a reason to stay home. It was clear that the pounding rain did not mute this celebration. As we left, someone looked back and said, “That rain was not anywhere in the forecast.”