50

Fifty is a number with significance, often prompting celebrations. I have long since passed that number for my birthdays, gulp. My husband and I are careening closer to that number for years married, another gulp. This blog post just passed the two hundred and fiftieth number, good gracious. I just retired from fifty years of teaching. Okay, that's not true, but it felt like it some days.

Today does mark the real deal for a 50th anniversary worth noting. On July 20, 1969, the Apollo 11 landed on the moon, a feat only dreamed about up until that point. At 9:30 p.m. (CST), Neil Armstrong stepped foot on the lunar surface, joined by Buzz Aldrin shortly thereafter. Such an astounding event was cause for celebration on so many levels. Amazing amounts of technological challenges were conquered in an era when computers and space travel were rudimentary at best. Adjectives such as courageous, brave and heroic were aptly used for not only the astronauts, but also for the support teams involved in the mission.

A recent feature on a news show highlighted some of the behind-the-scenes players in the Apollo 11 mission. My favorite was an interview with four women who were on the sewing team for the astronaut's spacesuits. They were trained to sew a different garment in high demand back then and that was the girdle. If you are under the age of fifty-five, you may have to Google this bondage wardrobe piece (warning: images may be disturbing to some). Apparently the girdle plant snagged the contract for designing the first spacesuits for a lunar walk due to their ability to design flexible garments with heavy duty material. The women in the interview shared how profound the task was to them. They knew that every stitch they made had the potential to be a life or death moment for the astronauts. One stray pin or puncture in the suit could have serious, if not fatal, consequences. Each woman was extremely proud of her accomplishments and each one shared how special it was to support the mission to the moon.

The theme that is quite evident with all the players in the Apollo 11 mission is teamwork. Through the Apollo events our nation was given moments of thinking outside our little plot of land on the earth and we were invited to look upward toward the great frontier called space. Mind you, our country at that time was in the throes of much discord with the Vietnam war, civil rights riots, an assassination of a president and the Cold War. If ever there was a time to pull together as a country, it was then.

Fast forward fifty years and we are reminded that some things haven't changed. Where two or three are gathered, there will be squabbling. And that is why a fiftieth anniversary of a monumental event in our history is worth noting. Let's strike up the band, start the parades and share the great stories of problem solving and teamwork. Happy Birthday, Apollo 11.

And look out Mars, here we come.

Fourth

Our country's official birthday has come and gone for another year. I live in a state that loves its fireworks so there was much snap, crack and popping going on. Of course, fireworks are illegal within city limits but, of course, that ordinance is only adhered to by the rule followers. The urge to play with explosives is strong, indeed.

My early memories of 4th of July celebrations also included fireworks. I grew up on a farm so the sky was the limit, literally, with fireworks. We were given a strict budget for how much we could purchase at the local fireworks stand and if you wanted something extra, you had best dig into your own piggy bank. My brothers loved the firecrackers with the loudest noise and at that time, Black Cats were the way to go. My bros would weave several of them together, light the fuse and run. We all waited in anticipation for the domino sound effects to begin and delighted in each and every loud pop.

My sisters and I were into less noise and more flash. We enjoyed the smudgy little magic snakes as they danced like cobras on our sidewalk. We loved roman candles as they spit out balls of glittery light into the sky. Our favorite was probably the box of sparklers that allowed all of us to be in control of our own dazzle effects. Bright colors, dripping sparks and swirling possibilities made for a great time as the night came to a close.

Our hometown did not have a 4th of July parade but it occasionally had an event called a tractor pull. The day included other a activities which have faded into a fuzzy memory for me, but I do remember the culminating moments of the tractor pull. Tractors were pitted against each other in a contest to pull the greatest load on a sled of sorts. Tractors were not the behemoths we have today but a farming community's machines are always a source of pride, no matter the era. Tractors belched and engines gunned as bragging rights were loaded onto the sled. I don't know if there was any prize money involved but I suspect there was a trophy or two and maybe a fancy certificate of honor. The evening concluded with a head count of kids as we piled back into our non-air-conditioned car for a sticky ride back home.

Many of our 4th of July days came and went without much fanfare. Life on a farm doesn't always check the calendar for holidays. If rain was in the forecast and field work was necessary, that was the order for the day. If cattle broke through fences, the chase began, regardless of the day and fences were given immediate attention. If garden beans needed picking, buckets were filled and canning jars were readied. Daily duties hummed along and a life of leisure was best not longed for.

All was well, however, if we could end the day with a few fireworks. The magic snakes and firecrackers entertained us as the day's light began to wane and the roman candles took over when darkness fell. And, of course, the sparklers made it possible to conclude the night with, "Happy Birthday, America!"

Fireworks captured by my sad camera from a balcony
 in Corvallis, OR, several years ago.