4th of July
“When I’m on a shoot I try to be concentration personified. But give me a bit of spare time and my eyes tend to wander about, searching out
something a little different. This probably isn’t the best way to drive either but that’s exactly what I was doing on my way to Portland to meet
friends for the 4th of July.
As I made my way across Oregon from the state of Idaho I passed through several small towns, many with the same sort of features and
same type of people sitting outside (usually geriatrics in their deckchairs). There was one though that made me slow to a halt – I couldn’t
explain exactly why but I pulled over to take a few shots of a boy playing basketball out on the asphalt.
Zach and I got talking and it wasn’t long before half the street had come out to introduce themselves. Within the space of an hour, after
meeting most (if not all!) of Zach’s family, I was encouraged to stay for their holiday weekend barbeque.
The family lived on a quiet side street intersection; three grown up siblings all in lived in houses next to each other with their respective families.
The parents lived opposite and two cousins and their families lived a bit further up the road.
They had me sit down with a beer and started telling me family stories. One beer turned into another and before long I realised I couldn’t drive
on that night. One of the sons, ‘Crocket’, was a destruction derby driver and brought me over to see his old beat up car he was building for his
next race. To show us how tough it was he set all the kids on it to try to pull pieces off it. I couldn’t resist taking a few more shots.
By sundown I was eating elk burgers and oysters from the grill and drinking something that now only resembled beer with the rest of the
neighbours who’d all popped along to say “Hi” to the passing Englishman.
One of this bunch was the local sheriff, Jim Wood, who, after a few beers himself, kept bringing up the fact that the 4th of July was all about
independence from the English, not to mention the Americans having ‘chased the English out of town’. I think he meant it light-heartedly but
after an hour or so I started to wonder…If I was going to get any sleep at all I certainly planned to sleep with one eye open!
Any idea of an early night soon went out the window as the party moved on to the local bar where it seemed the whole town had gathered.
I have to say I wasn’t sure that moonshine really existed until that night but that’s what they set me off on before encouraging me to dance
on the bar (when in Rome!) whilst the local ‘plink plonk’ banjo band played to the crowd.
I must have fallen off several times as I distinctly remember the floor being made up of a mixture of sawdust and monkey-nut shells.
Genuinely, men were arm wrestling at every other table but my next memory was being woken up on a random sofa and being told I
had to go and sign up before it was too late. Thinking I was being drafted into the military or something else equally scary, I reluctantly
wondered how a few beers had turned into this crazy mess.
I needn’t have worried. Within an hour I was hurtling down the main drag in a 1952 Filmore classic tractor owned by Zach’s family. I was
greeted with cheers from the crowd when the announcer introduced me as the only Englishman to have ever taken part in the Independance
Day parade. I somehow managed to win the Blue Ribbon (first prize!) in the tractor section of the parade, admitably there was not a large
contingent of entrants
After taking stock, pinning my blue ribbon on my chest with pride I decided it was time to quit while I was ahead. I needed to get back on
the road if I had any hope of making my own 4th July celebration.
Just before I left though my hosts informed me of a new addition to the group I had met the day before. A llama had been born overnight
and, what with my prowess in the parade I suppose (not to mention keeping up with the moonshine drinkers) they’d decided to name it after me.
Now if that isn’t a reason to slow down and stop every now and again I don’t know what is!”
