When Hokey Ain’t So Bad

 I spent my childhood in a modest town in California. The town grew up about the time I did, but for some years there it wasn’t much. There was a movie theatre built in the Art Deco years, and a Saber jet in the public park that we kids could climb on. Fittingly, our local barber held the office of mayor. We also had our scaled down Sea Cavalcade, called “the Fish Fry”. I never ever saw a fish fried there, but there were other attractions: a traveling carnival took our dimes in exchange for nauseating rides while beside the midway a few vendors of kitchen gizmos temporarily wowed our Moms. The big event however was the parade. We all lined the edges of Harbor Street to watch cub scouts travel by like schools of blue fish, see the old men with fez hats doing death-defying figure eights on mini bikes, and of course to grimace as the high school marching band brought it all to a climax with another doleful Oompah tune.

I loved it. Everybody loved it. And to say a truism, everybody still does. The languid days of summer when a community stops for a day with its hoes and shovels to celebrate what it has together. Kids. Commerce. Art. Kindness. Food. Earth. Sky. Water. Acceptance. Validity. Reverence. Just exactly as the synergy of Nature working, where there are no solitary anythings, the best of who we are and the best of what we achieve is invariably a product of labouring, of laughing, of loving, and of simply being together.

On this languid summer morning Brookbank with its participating GFC farms thank you again for making the enterprise something all of us make together. Let’s have that parade.