One of the many joys of living across the water from a reservation is the opportunity to watch frequent firework displays. This particular shot is a compilation of several shots taken last Saturday evening as the dog sat cowering by my chair (like many animals, he hates the noise, and even the smell of fireworks will keep him from going out for a walk.)
Tonight's displays, of course, will be the highlight of the week as rival communities celebrate up and down the shoreline; we love to sit outside on the deck and put our heads in swivel mode, turning back and forth with each new explosion of glory.
But of course there are those who object: farmers whose horses panic at the noise, locals who prefer to be in bed before dark (and dark comes really late here, this time of year), dog owners, the wildlife shelter... my daughter suggested last night that members of the armed forces who suffer from PTSD might also find the repeated explosions trying.
And yet, despite objections, the tradition continues. If indeed negotiations have been tried, this is clearly one of those compromises that is more of a compromise for one side than the other. I wonder if perhaps that is because patriotism and tradition work together as a sort of trump card? Certainly past political campaigns have used patriotism as a weapon to trounce opponents... Although, maybe that's a guy thing; sort of like the moms who tell me they refused to give their sons toy weapons, only to find them using sticks as guns and swords. Perhaps anything can become a weapon if that's how you see the world, divided into winners and losers...