Babs writes:  Every 4th of July there is a parade in Central Lake and the Blue Heaven Gang is usually one of the attractions. This year was no exception. Two trucks, four golf carts and one Ranger carried somewhere over 40 of us right down Main Street.

That’s an Up North 4th of July for you:  the entire populace lines up on the curb to watch the volunteer fire department, some cute little kids on bicycles, and a bunch of whimsical goofballs parade by.  Smoke from grilling meats wafts through the town.  Locals and tourists alike paw through the bargains at the flea market and the Friends of the Library used book sale.  Bachmann’s does a brisk business in sand toys and penny candy.  Later on everyone troops over to the high school football field to watch the fireworks.  It’s perfect.  We the People have absconded with the holiday, ignoring the political babble and doing what we like to do, a living demonstration of the most fundamental sort of freedom. 

As I had to work at the day job on the 4th itself, Miss Sadie, the Cowboy and I did our celebrating on the 3rd instead.  We bought quantities of treats at Sonny’s and took them to the beach at the north end of Torch Lake for a little picnic and people-watching. 

There we were, eating fresh strawberries and thinly sliced roast beef with our fingers, when some very nice people came over to say hello.  They recognized Miss Sadie and the Cowboy from Torch Lake Views.    The Cowboy was overcome with emotion to discover that he had fans, and Miss Sadie was pretty tickled herself.  I am one of those shy celebrities who always does the awkward thing.  Flummoxed at being caught with mouth and hands full of roast beef, I failed to get the Fan Family’s names or their pictures, but I’m pretty sure I said it was a pleasure to meet them, which it was.

May you have a lovely day with family and friends
Sharing a good meal and warm laughter
In a pretty place
In peace

Last weekend I was driving past Bargy’s Farm Market when I was captivated by two mysteries.  A tower of baled hay, clearly on its way to becoming something else, stood on the grass. Nearby a teenage girl waved a cardboard sign that I couldn’t read.  I stopped. 

Once Ashley had lured me close enough to read her sign, she consented to an interview.  She told me she was helping Grandma with the time-honored technique of waving tourists down and forcing them to eat fresh asparagus and cherry pie.  She said the hay bales were going to become a dog. 

Yesterday I went by again, and sure enough, there was the dog. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to take pictures of the construction process, but you can imagine the scene. I’ve named him Hay Dawg and I think he’s a worthy challenger to the Dawsons’ Pumpkisaurus Giganticus. What’s a resort area without whimsy?