For the Fourth

My American holiday began the American way with a huge pancake, sausage, steak and eggs breakfast. Instead of savoring the meal I stood behind the grill scrambling eggs. My singles ward hosts the Brighton Breakfast each Fourth of July and they’re pretty intense about it. I thought they were joking about placing you on a committee if you didn’t volunteer. They weren’t. So I drove in the dark of the morning up the canyon to Brighton ski resort and wandered groggily waiting for instructions. After I was handed a cap and apron I began perfecting my cooking skills.

Two hours later I felt a little more awake and noticed the smiles of happy patriots as I dished out the eggs. Unfortunately that was also the time that I realized I’d been awake for hours and forgotten to eat. It was about another hour before I cut out early and went on to spend the remainder of my day bleery eyed.

Fun as it was, I couldn’t help but think of my childhood Fourths. We’d leave “early” to hike Two Buttes. Standing on the peak of ancient volcano, we’d slap mosquitoes and look at the empty plains stretching in every direction. Dodging cactus and rattlers we’d stumble back down and venture into the gully for a BBQ lunch. While Grandma prepared the meal, we’d stomp around searching for gourds. Add a little blackcat and it’s an impressive explosion. But the best part of the day was swimming in the Black Hole. Having grown up in the area I’d heard rumors of the stagnant water pool. The most famous (aside from the ever present itching disease) claimed that no one had ever found the bottom, there’s even a car down there. What isn’t folklore is the giant rock in the middle and right under the highest jumping cliff, Granddaddy.


As kids I don’t think any of us jumped off that point. We weren’t able to numb our good sense with the necessary booze. Jason and Phil may have attempted it, if they hadn’t landed on top of each other during a tandem jump from a lower cliff. I think they wanted to reenact a scene from Tango and Cash, or some other Mel Gibson flick. The parents usually packed us up in an effort to keep all body parts intact. Right. And we’d sunburn on the drive home as we fell asleep in the back of the pick-up, anchoring down the Jiffy tubes.

In keeping with tradition, and maybe starting a new one, I took this Fourth as the opportunity to do a little risqué swimming of my own. But I’m not a kiss and tell kind of girl…