An unexpected sight - or, aroma, in Birch terms. I couldn’t smell the deer, and I’ve no idea if it was a faint note or a massed brass blare.

As I may have mentioned, Sunderwood Park has gone wild, except for some occasional passes with the municipal lawn mower. It took three months for the deer to show up. How did he get here? Clopping down the paved pathway of Nine Mile Road until he found a field? Was he wandering around Lake Edina, passing through yards? And where did he go? He left scents Birch followed for two days.

The wild feral flora often produces plants I’ve never seen before, or never noticed. Some are alien things that do not look attractive, and have unnerving sizes.

The variety of evil thistles is remarkable, and I’m sure it’s just 0.17% of the world’s thistle variations. The weeds have grown around Jackrabbit’s Palace, my name for the biggest stump in the field. (Bleat No-Prize to anyone who can identify the reference, but how do we know you haven’t Grokked or Googled? We don’t. I trust you will behave honorably.) We have cattails around the Slough of Despond, too.

After losing the woods by the creek, this is a salve for the heart.

The local fireworks were on Friday, were billed as one of the largest in town, the metro area, the state, the UNIVERSE and so on, so I expected I would see them from the balcony of Fred Base One. They were slated to begin at 10:10, but I saw fireworks coming from the site ten, fifteen minutes before. And a rather pathetic offering, too - at least from here. Pips and pops and fizzly sizzles. They were too far away. I wouldn’t see much of anything, and that was fine. It wasn’t even the 4th. The Bloomington city festival was on the 3rd, for some reason.

It’s now 10:07. Maybe there will be more.

UPDATE: There was more. As ever, the first minute is all delight and oohs and ahhs and a warm settled feeling as you grasp the great braided strand that this Fourth to all your others, and the ones before it. And then minutes 3 - 17 are spent with a frozen smile and a sense that this certainly is wonderful and gorgeous but we really to be honest don’t need this much. After 19 minutes you’re calculating the time to the car, and thinking if we stand up immediately when it is clear that the fireworks have stopped and walk very fast we can get to the car and beat the pileup at the parking lot exit.

This is the ens sequence sped up ten times, and to be honest it still taxes my patience.

I remember going downtown for the fireworks with the family, and we got there waaaay in advance to get a spot. There were no spots. I think that was the summer we had Emma the Unimpressed French Exchange Student. Half the crowd was drunk, so they were slow to strike camp and head out, but there were enough people who shared my ideas about quick exit to complicate the exodus. I know this seems a very particular thing to think about when it comes to the general topic of Fireworks, but when you're accustomed to being Logistical Dad, yes, it's there. This year I did not have to worry. I sat on my balcony and whistled the Stars and Stripes Forever.

Saturday was the Crazy Uke's house for the Gathering. Sorry, Birch. When I got back I had some coffee and did some work, then set out for our walk.

A Story in Three Acts.

Act One:

We crossed the perimeter and were about to head into the field, when he stopped and would go no more. Tugged me in the other direction. Act Two:

An absolutely mad storm followed. Gorgeous aftermath.

Let's resume our walk, then! Act Three:

LATER: There was another fireworks exhibition in the neighborhood on the Fourth, at 11:20, in a parking lot. Poorly executed, no timing, much too late, with a few mortars that detonated perilously close to the ground. It couldn't have been sanctioned. I checked the local busybody boards, and no one was complaining.

All was done when I finally went to sleep, thinking about all the Fourths gone by. The kids who lined up on the playhouse or the steps, watching the show. The bygone people. Cleaning the grill. Trying to get the grill to work. No, it's a regulator problem, I know this, I can fix this. (fingers crossed, praying) The goodbyes and cleaning up and the sense that the official work of the summer was over, and now one could just relax and let the rest of the season play out. The pressure was off. Bring on the cicadas.

I wonder if I can hear them from up here. Almost certainly not.

In keeping with our Monday tradition, which became a "tradition" for reasons I can't recall and probably don't matter, we continue with our Monday trademark. For this year we'll do 1936.

Max wanted his name on everyone's lips:

		"A system cleanser." Really cleaned out the pipes, I'm sure.

Another TV show you can find on YouTube. There are so many, and even then you know 97% of the old shows are lost.

In honor of the sponsor going out of business this year:

The opening shows James Dean, talking about how a young man's life was changed forever when he walked into a . . .

It's a muddy kine. I've tried sharpening it up a bit:

A familiar place to Americans of the era, just like fast-food joints today.

Anyway. I swear 50% of the old TV shows I’ve seen lately star James Dean, but the Wikipedia entry on the show says his TV work was "rare." Whatever. He plays a character named James Dean. Can’t fault him for that; it worked. In this one he’s a drifter who goes into a diner, fixes the coffee pot and thus demonstrates his utility, and gets hired. A cute local girl comes in the diner to put up signs for the Stanton Dance at the Grange Hall, and netx thing you know he’sat the square dance with her, saying nice things under the moon.

The square dance is where Dean unburdens himself: he’d been on the bum since Korea, but he wanted to settle down and get himself a best gal, and, well, Stanton looks like the place, and she looks like the gal. They kiss. Everything’s wonderful! This leads to something I actually did not expect in the slightest. Man, this is a seque:

It's a tidy tale. Nothing vital.

PS I cannot imagine any commercial today announcing it was NATIONAL BAR MONTH.

That will do. Matchbooks up, and free column at the Substack around 11. See you there!