Whatever was last weekend has passed by.

Tuesday, July 11, 2000

Whatever was last weekend has passed by. East Side Lake is at peace again. The ducks’ stress levels have settled back down. I understand that a mother mallard was quite frantic with her little ones along the shoreline closest to the speeding boats.

The speed boats, themselves, have hopefully calmed down – perhaps still shaken by the limited area they were expected to operate in. Now they can boast to other boats in other events about "the squeeze play" they had in Austin or SPAM Town where they competed in one of two counties that doesn’t have a lake. Then there was the south wind that acquainted everything on the water with the scent of cooked meat, adding a touch of slipperiness to everything it touched.

Personally, it was a refreshing bike ride out and back and a nice time to visit with Shirley, our neighbor at the end of the block, and her daughter. It’s something we don’t get to do in the busyness of our daily life. It’s something that used to sustain families when people mattered more than things.

At the ice cream social, I chatted with Sharon and Helen, two friends from high school days. This was followed by a race to the end of the ice cream line. And as always, there was the search for Duane Germain, who was somewhere talking to somebody.

After ice cream, I listened to a couple area ministers discuss the sermons they gave that morning and the text they used.

I hiked back to the house to reassure Bailey, our dog, that we weren’t under attack and the bright streaks in sky that accompanied the explosions would soon end, and we were not at war.

He begin to doubt me after the third night.

Running in to Mimi Kentta, a school classmate, brightened up an otherwise gloomy overcast Monday. She and her family had come from New York along with her sister from Chicago to share in the festivities.

Monday I also typed in Russell Harding’s column and thought about his concern that somehow we have not paid due respect to Independence Day here in our fair city.

Maybe that prompted me to get down to the first half of the parade Sunday where my friend Jerry announced that his mother used to say that for all practical purposes summer was over after July Fourth.

That afternoon I got on my bike and headed for Horace Park for a brat and a beer. The rain was still falling.

Sitting on a bench I happened to recognize some familiar faces under the gazebo tuning up their fiddles, violas, guitars and string base, as I forgot about the rain, and the extended family of Ole Hanson began to play. Josh Larson was there with is guitar and harmonica, Wendy with her fiddle and guitar, Sylvia Davis playing the fiddle, viola and Cameron Davis with the string base and guitar. George Mackey from Story City wandered in with another guitar.

They were mixing the music with a little bit of everything including a childhood favorite "Jambalaya" and "Hey Good Looking" by Hank Williams. Hank would have been proud of Cameron’s rendition if he were still living.

And if Hank were still living, he would probably know Ole Hanson personally. Then, low and behold, half way through their set, Ken Larson drove up by the Butler home. He brought Ole himself and the mother of all these fine musicians, Maxine.

Ole brought out his Dobro Garber or something like that – a steel guitar of sorts – and he was soon doing a rousing rendition of Don Ho’s "Tiny Bubbles."

What a joy it was to sit there and enjoy a three generation family play wonderful music, the music they love.

Ken was telling me that I wouldn’t have believed all the family member musicians who recently turned out for Ole’s 90th birthday party. I can imagine.

I left after the first set, my heart feeling warm. Peddling for home I stopping by the donut shop for a cup of coffee and a Pumpkin Pie recipe from Lucille Ibeling.

Then I was on toward home. The crowds seemed to be increasing down by Horace Park or Mill Pond or Cedar River’s adaptation of Lake Pepin as I peddled south, away from the maddening crowd and the night’s fourth fireworks.

Later in the week I went back to thinking about Russell’s concern about Independence Day and that made me think of Vietnam. Vietnam made me think of standing on Artillery Hill outside Duc Pho, Vietnam, reading about tanks rolling down the streets of Detroit in 1968. Maybe that had something to do with my patriotism. Maybe it did something to quite a few of us.

Thank goodness for music and the Hansons.