Brian Head Fourth of July

One of my favorite spots to watch fireworks is at Brian Head. The feel of the crisp mountain air and the reverberation through the pine-clad valley make for a memorable event.
 
We don't make it up every year. Some years we choose to keep it simple and stay at home. Other times the show is canceled due to drought. But we've been coming off and on for about fifteen years now, long enough I would dare call it a tradition. This year we decided to go again.
 

We watch the parade in town, then after lunch load up the vehicle and head for the mountain. We find a few patches of snow at higher elevations and a late crop of wildflowers. We spend the afternoon hiking through a grove of aspen.
 
Our family is getting smaller and it's kind of sad. This year Kaitlyn is away serving the country and Brittany is still gone serving on the other side of the veil. Both are on my mind.
 

Red Valley appears nothing like its name. On this July 4th it is a lush green with yellow dandelions sprinkled throughout. A small stream flows through the large meadow. Mosquitoes swarm in hordes around the flowing water, creating a miserable contrast to the otherwise beautiful surroundings of the forest. The stream flows from the meadow and through a culvert beneath the dirt road into a tangled mess of pine trees. Here grows a thriving community of white yarrow along the stream bed.
 
We set up camp chairs in a circle, away from the mosquitoes, and begin to grill a couple dozen hotdogs over a portable propane grill. On our paper plates we pile chips, potato salad and slices of watermelon that I haphazardly slice up using a hunting knife. It is a peaceful dinner away from anyone else.
 

As the sun approaches the horizon, we pack up our food and gear and begin the bumpy ride back to the highway. Along the way Jordan spots a tiny fawn with fresh white spots, small enough to be our dog. It hides behind a small sapling while we stop to steal a peak.
 
Just as the evening hues of sunset are glowing in the sky, we come into the mountain valley of Brian Head. Perhaps we should have come sooner. Hundreds of vehicles are parked in every nook and cranny and along every inch of highway. There are definitely more people here than the last time we came. We find what appears to be the last tract of park-able ground and squeeze in using my poorly-honed parallel parking skills.
 

We set up chairs and blankets along the slope near where we usually sit. There is music in the air and several private parties lighting off their own pyrotechnics. Side by sides filter in with antenna-like florescent lights poking above their machines. The atmosphere is chaotic and lively.
 
Jenelle is anxious to try her new inflatable banana seat, which she successfully inflates and plops down upon for a comfy front-row seat. Savanah is anxious to light some old sparklers that she found in the basement. I am anxious to sit down and watch the crowd and take in the atmosphere.
 

The elevation of Brian Head is just under 10,000 feet. During the winter it is a ski-lovers paradise and transforms into a haven for mountain bikers during the summer. Deer and elk roam the back-country and at night the mountain lions sometimes come out. There are patches of snow on the higher slopes, and even though it is July fourth, everyone is bundled up.
 
As soon as it is dark, the show begins. The bright blasts light up the basin and turn the slopes into shades of orange and red. Each boom bounces off the hills and echoes through the valley. As the show continues, the smoke builds and billows. Our view on the hillside is a grand view. Being Independence Day, I can't help but to think of the words penned by Francis Scott Key, “And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air . . .”
 

And once again my mind goes back to my shrinking family. Ever since Kaitlyn joined the military, I have looked at many things differently, including the Fourth of July. I can't help but to have a greater appreciation for those people and events in the past that have shaped our country and have given us—as well as the world—a greater measure of freedom.
 
And then I think of Brittany. Perhaps she is watching over us this very minute, or perhaps she is attending to other activities. I don't know. But I do know she is close to my thoughts, as I can vividly remember the day when she, too, sat with us in her camp-chair, bundled up in a coat and blanket, watching the lights in the sky. ♠