I adore fireworks. As in, *love.* They may just be my Holy Grail... despite my age, I still find them downright magical and will gleefully adopt any foreign holiday if it means I get to see a show. Which is why, what I may hate *most* about being an expat is the absence of star spangled spectaculars on July 4th. I mean, really? You think the Brits are going to launch celebratory rockets in honour of our violent succession... probably not. And let me tell you, the holiday is a horrible let-down without them. It's been a consecutive three years of firework-less 4ths... and I simply couldn't bear to repeat it again this year.
Luckily, the surround-sound fire fest on the lake this year more than made up for all the barren holiday nights of the past few summers. My uncle's house is on reservation land, and he and his neighbours clearly delight in taking full advantage of all the generally-illegal pyrotechnics possibilities this affords them.
Bona fide Roman Candles...
...or light sabers, as you will.
My dad and cousin Taylor, crouched to ignight our explosives... before quickly backing away in anticipation of...
Trails of incadescent sparks and dense wafting clouds of sulphur *everywhere.* Honestly, couldn't have asked for a more perfect night.
Happy belated 4th of July!