Gorge Fly Shop Blog: Fourth of July

Pro Circuit - Livingston Roundup

When Theresa called to get tickets, the lady on the phone said, “Honey, you best be thinkin about tickets a year in advance.”

Really, for a Rodeo?

In that moment it hit me how important is place and tradition and the desire to celebrate such on America’s coveted birthday. In the summer sun…

Growing up in Maine, The Fourth began with a parade through the neighborhood followed by a costume awards ceremony. One year I won a ribbon that said, “Marvelous” because I dressed like a hula girl with a generous chest size amplified by five pairs of socks.

Then there would be games on the Reserve, which was the large patch of grass that perched there above clay cliffs overlooking Casco Bay – the gateway to the north Atlantic. Egg toss, Balloon Toss, 3 legged race, potato sack race and a tug of war, where the losers would be yanked into an actual mud pit.

Then the watermelon hunt, followed by the talent show and then a big bonfire surrounded by barbeques and bottle rockets. We’d all run around while the older folks sat around yapping and getting lose on cool beverages.

That was there, but over the years I’ve celebrated this holiday in many different locations across the States. And you get molded to that place and the traditions therein. A few things like, hamburgers and hotdogs, cold beer and fire crackers – hold steady. But how it goes depends on where you are. And it all adds up – all these places and our lust for these places and people – it’s all stitched up into that great quilt that is America. How fortunate are we to wake in such a place and light the fuse…

So we did get tickets to that Montana Rodeo after all. As did many others who came to this Arena of Dreams built in the dust of hoofs and ropes and spurs. Cow urine never smelled so sweet nor did the rumbling aluminum bleachers bring such comfort. And the clown in the barrel never smiled so large when the rampaging bull kicked dirt in his eye. And that cold beer never soothed the throat like it did when his hands let lose the reins and his bronc- busted body sailed out over the dirt. And maybe the showering glints of light never ignited so bright. But I can’t say for sure.