I’m not sure how the date was selected. But every year, the third weekend in July, my hometown celebrates. Baseball games. Fire department displays of strength. A dance.
And every 25 years they do it up big and special with a parade.
I remember the one when I was a child and it was part of the town’s centennial. We had lots of preliminary events for that. Men grew beards (my dad purchased a “shaving permit” button). Women bought fabric and patterns and sewed costumes of 1850’s design. I remember a fashion show, a carnival, fireworks. And of course — a parade.
Fast forward half a century. A few of the same people are in the parade. Riding this time instead of walking.
