I need to apologize to the Gilroy Fire Department for making the
busiest night of the year half an hour longer than it needed to
be.
I need to apologize to the Gilroy Fire Department for making the busiest night of the year half an hour longer than it needed to be.
We had a wonderful Independence Day. True, the weather was brutally hot, but our family barbecue did not start until 5pm (appetizers and political discourse, followed at 6pm with dinner and more political discourse, then at 6:45pm by reading aloud the Declaration of Independence, and at 7pm, dessert and still more political discourse.)
At 8:30, we wandered over to the high school to enjoy the city’s aerial fireworks display, which was the best ever in the 19 years we have been in Gilroy.
I particularly liked the ones that burst into huge white and gold chrysanthemums, with a secondary burst at the periphery. Magnificent!
For the first time ever, the baseball infield was not crowded with people setting off their personal fireworks in violation of city policy and ordinance. Was this due to better enforcement by the city or just better compliance by a grateful populace?
Also, although still present, illegal fireworks were much less prevalent than last year and the year before.
Good job, Gilroy.
After the aerial show, we walked back to our house through the gunpowder-scented dark to watch, with hose and bucket close at hand, as the kids carefully, safely, and sanely set off the personal fireworks.
And all that was lovely, and a good time was had by all, and we should have called it a night.
But unfortunately, we have had a family tradition for the last five or six years.
Never before have we indulged in this custom on Independence Day, and we never will again on any of the 365 and a quarter days of the year.
The tradition was to burn the dead Christmas tree.
Now, in our defense I must say that the original idea was to demonstrate to our impressionable younglings just how dangerous a dry Christmas tree was, and how easily a fire could start and how fiercely it burns, as well as how to put it out. And it pretty much worked. Our kids have an enormous respect for fire.
And we are extremely careful. We have a hose pressurized and ready. We burn in a backyard fire pit well away from structures and trees.
We water everything down afterwards until the fire is out … dead out.
But it makes an impressive pillar of fire, and the heat is intense.
Anyway, after we burnt our dead Christmas tree and watered everything down, we went inside. The girls began to play backgammon.
Then a fire truck pulled up in front of the house, and I got the most peculiar sinking sensation.
Time passed. Just as I began to hope that the firemen were looking for some other miscreant, there came the tromp of boots on the porch steps. With an inward tremor, I opened the door.
“Hello,” said the firefighter. “We had a report … did you have a fire here a little while ago?”
“Yes,” I admitted.
Well, he wanted to make sure that it was out, so I led the two fire fighters into the backyard and showed them the charred trunk of the Christmas tree. In the kindest possible way, the captain told me that all wood had to fit inside the fire pit, and have a spark screen over it, which makes perfect sense from a fire prevention point of view.
Then he asked for my name. And as I told him, the other fire fighter lifted his chin so I could see under his helmet brim, and said, “Hi, Mrs. Walker!”
It was Jeff MacPhail! All grown up and helping to fight fires, and not needing to study algebra with me any more! That was the best part of an almost perfect day: seeing what a fine young man my ex-student has grown into.
So: my apologies to the Gilroy Fire Department. It will never happen again. From now on, our Christmas tree will be cut in two and put out with the yard waste by Three Kings Day.
I promise.
