Orange Moon for the Red, White and Blue

It was a little sad not to be able to go to Deep Creek for the Fourth, our cousin- and extended-family tradition from the last how many years. But given that we couldn’t, we made the best of it with a visit to our favorite river spot for an afternoon picnic and swim, and then back to the Potomac at nightfall to see the fireworks.

Our river spot has become a saving grace for the summer–open even when the pool is not, no reservation needed, masks not required. Following a wooded trail through a Boy Scouts campground and down to the tree where Pooh might live, we turn right and walk about 10 minutes, stepping over an occasional fallen log and stone-studded creek, and then we get to the secret sandy bank. It’s not completely secret, since we often find a troop of teenagers there, or a Spanish-speaking family enjoying the cool shade. We have our own diving board in the shape of a leaning tree, and lots of spaces for standing back flips and digging.

Yesterday, I was just about to fall asleep on the picnic blanket when I got whacked three times with a shovelful of dirt. That was the first surprise of the day. Bali was digging her way to Wuhan through the sand and I was on the receiving end of the dig. She has become an avid swimmer. She just loves it and is brave and gleeful for any stop to swim, just like the kids. I wonder if the current is strong but Hugh said it hasn’t been so far.

In the evening, we took our second picnic of the day to the Potomac, this time along the George Washing Parkway down past National Airport. We had a panoramic view of the river and fireworks all along the horizon, including the big official ones down to the left, just past the Capitol. On the right, the moon was breathtaking. It was orange, enormous and low in the sky, just over the water. It cast a long stream of orange light on the soft waves of the river, pointing right to our grassy spot by one of those willowy trees that I love.

It seemed to be shining a light on all of us in our colorful river of American humanity. We were surrounded by all kinds of neighbors, families that looked Mayan and Middle Eastern, a young Black couple on bikes, a Chinese young man and elderly man in lawn chairs, women in hijabs, others in saris, and lots in red, white and blue sparkly flag shirts. As Hamilton reminded us the night before, we’ve all been immigrants sometime.

Tatum got creative with street chalk and cake yesterday, expressing the kind of America she believes in through her art.

We got home late–I have to say, even sitting in traffic in the crush of humanity on a mild summer night listening to crickets and samba music off a party boat was kind of gratifying, like a pretend run at normal–and let Bali out for a walk. And there was my second surprise of the day: Kevin was sitting under the pergola, home after three weeks visiting Brooks. He drove halfway across the amber waves of grain to bring us peaches for the Fourth.