Brian: It's nothing compared to my uncle. One year he had driven home long-distance for a 4th of July party, stopping at every fireworks stand along the way. He picked the biggest and best at every shop. By the end of the trip, he had a huge garbage bag of fireworks.
Jennie: What happened?
Brian: Everything was great until the second one took a bad hop and landed in the garbage bag.
Jennie: (laughs)
Brian: He set the lawn on fire.
Jennie: (still laughing) Oh god, please stop. I've peed my pants! (the 3rd trimester sucks, y'all.)
My own family has a very long tradition of setting various patches of grass on fire on the 4th of July. Some collateral damage includes hearing loss, heart palpitations, burned fingers, and a large orange glow in the far woods of a nearby house, where the garden hose couldn't possibly reach. But I'll never forget the year we let a 5-year old boy hold a 5-ball Roman Candle, and after the first one we all made the obligatory "ooooh" noises, whereupon the 5-year old turned to us, proud of his handiwork, with a giant grin on his face and the Roman Candle aimed at us.
You've never seen a bunch of ladies hit the deck that fast.
This year we've been told that fireworks on the farm are allowed, within very reasonable limits on after-show cleanup. That basically leaves giant cannon shots that can be seen for miles.
This should be a very interesting holiday.
But with all the commotion, the cows will probably stay far away, and I won't get to take lots of pictures of them. And that, Dear Reader, will be a win-win for you.
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