That one was in the works for months between me and my best friend of nearly 44 years.  We are on the same page politically, culturally, and economically, meaning both of us are happy.  Both of us are lower-middle-class at best.  We don’t mind; we have more than money. 

Independence Day was our original plan, but it still took a few months to finalize.  Her place is 150 miles from mine, and it’s easier for me to go there than for her to come here, so on July 3, I set out for eastern Kansas from central Missouri.  Fields of corn, pastures of cows, the occasional scene of horses, rock overhangs in certain places, and the favorite small-town all-purpose store on the way were familiar and welcome. 

A cat almost disrupted the trip with an unexpected injury, but because it was a simple driving trip, and my friend loves all animals, I took the injured kitty with me.  Doing this on a flying trip to California would have been nearly impossible. 

Once arrived, I was greeted by pastoral serenity, fine rolling fields and soft gurgling creeks, the sounds of distant and not so distant livestock — the peace of a rural location.  Best of all, I was greeted by good friends. 

After unloading my car, I settled in with a glass of wine, fine company, and no work boots.  It was delightful. 

The next day was Independence Day!  My friend’s son and daughter-in-law, along with their two beautiful children, hosted the festivities, celebrating the Declaration of Independence.  They live only two miles from my friend, and only 10 miles from the rest of their immediate family.  There were no less than four generations present, about 15 people, ranging in age from a few months to many, many decades. 

Eschewing traditional fare, we had a most delightful taco bar for dinner. 

Meanwhile, there were plenty of kids’ fireworks for the great-grandkids, two and three years old (the five-month old notwithstanding).  We did snakes and sparklers, smoke bombs and tiny fountains.  The kids loved every minute, and despite the fact that we actually let the three year old have a punk and light fireworks, all by himself, no one was injured or frightened, and all had a great time.  This was a Karen-Free Zone (but not in any way a gun-free zone). 

Once upon a time, it was normal for all families to do such things, to teach kids early and often about risks and rewards.  It felt like being transported back in time to my own childhood.  It was a breath of Americana as it should be, a balm for the soul. 

America is still out here, with a strong heart, beating to the rhythm of patriotism and love of country, freedom and family and faith.  It was all on display. 

The evening ended with a fine fireworks display put on by the adults.  It wasn’t very fancy, and it wasn’t super-expensive, but it was wholesome and refreshing and beautiful. 

Everyone was home by 10 P.M., and the next day was spent simply relaxing and enjoying the day, with the usual farm work and some other profit-yielding work mixed in.  Farms and small business never sleep for long. 

Saturday was time to head home, but not until late afternoon.  First we tended chores and talked and laughed some more, and discussed our plans for the next visit.  That will be Thanksgiving, when we shall all sit down for a fine meal and bow our heads in gratitude for the gifts we have been given in this amazing country of ours. 

This was the vacation that mattered.  This was the trip that meant something.  And I didn’t have to leave my “Ozark self” behind.  All I brought was my regular self, the one I would have also brought to California, had my “liberal progressive” relatives only been the tolerant and inclusive people they claim so loudly to be. 

On that note, let us remember that the bucolic experience I just had is what real America is about.  If you want to conserve it, your only choice it to vote for Trump in November, or else the beautiful memories that were made this Independence Day, by families and friends all over this wonderful country doing exactly what I was doing, will be nothing but memories, and the future will be bleak. 

Vote as though your very life depends on it.  The lives of your kids, your grandkids, your great-grandkids, your friends, anyone you care about, and even disagreeable relatives depend on it.  We have all heard it before, but this time, it is truly life or death for our Republic.  Vote Trump. 

PS: The cat is doing well and will recover fully. 

Image via Raw Pixel.