July 4th came again - a family holiday for us here in Montana…a summer thanksgiving. It is not the rodeo and parade, that makes it that, although we did go. And it certainly isn’t the fireworks. The drought prevented all of that this year and I didn’t miss it. What really matter is the picnic. Piling into pickups with all the family that can be found, with whatever food has been made, and any available dogs, we caravan to the chosen picnic spot. The kids play in packs by the camp fire or in the water depending on the weather. The adults talk and drink beer, sometimes wandering off for a walk, and then returning for another beer or slice of watermelon. Is it trite to write of such an idyllic situation? It is just a few perfect hours, the absence of agenda, and letting each moment lead to the next. It is not religion…but nearly.
