West Michigan Fourth of July

The Fourth of July in Michigan is weird. Well, it's probably totally normal to everyone around here, but to a fella that hails from both coasts, this is all wrong.

First of all, fireworks are legal here. Neither of my previous home states had legal fireworks. Of course people smuggled them in pretty easily from neighboring states but there was an exciting naughtiness to seeing any elicit fireworks go off in your neighborhood. I once played with a sparkler that was smuggled into California from Arizona. It was thrilling!

In Michigan, not only are fireworks legal, they are ubiquitous. There is a pop-up tent in every parking lot selling arsenals of near-professional grade pyrotechnics. Around here, you are only supposed to set off fireworks in the few days before or after a relevant holiday. You might hear a couple distant pops and crackles in the week leading up to the Fourth, but once the sanctioned timespan begins, there are multiple large fireworks going off every second in every direction for a good three hours per night, with aftershocks of drunken shenanigans through 3am.

Last year, Jenni and I were living out of a third floor room in an extended-stay hotel during the Fourth so we had a great view of the dozens of private little fireworks shows going off at any given time stretching out to the horizon.

But the more annoying difference with fireworks here, compared to other places I've lived, is the time it gets dark. West Michigan is way over on the extreme western end of the eastern time zone. Between that and our modestly northern latitude it means that in early July, sunset isn't until 9:30 and it isn't dark until about 10:30. When you work early the following day, how can you stay up for that?! Little kids stand no chance of staying up for a fireworks show.  And if you do decide to just go to sleep, you're bound to be woken up repeatedly when your neighbors decide to fire off their own private artillery barrage 20 feet from your bedroom window.

I love fireworks, but I long for the relatively subdued and controlled celebrations of some of the other, more sensible places I've lived. Ah well, here's to the wild freedoms of 'Murica.