The holy tradition of three generations in the kitchen, preparing a meal. Grandmother and granddaughter shucking corn.
And one of the most beautiful dinner plate-fuls I've seen. Sweet corn on the cob, potato salad with green beans, fruit salad, and grilled deliciousness.
In the evening, everyone on the block began to filter downward, to the shore. People passed by carrying lawn chairs and coolers, marshmallows and scrap wood for the neighborhood bonfire. A golf cart chauffeured old folks down to the dock. At a quarter after nine, fireworks began to explode in earnest, all around the lake.
I was struck by the neighborliness of it all: the feeling of community, the kids playing with each other, the shared smores and smiles and sparklers. At ten, everyone lit flares, and the whole shoreline was lit pink. Patrick and I raised our glasses. It was tremendously beautiful.