Panorama

The question you've probably wanted to ask all week is, "Wordplay, how did you spend your first Fourth of July in L.A.?" Hopefully, no one missed any sleep over it, but in any event, I'm about to satisfy your curiosity: first I went downtown to the festivities at Grand Park, and later I went up to the Observatory to take in the view. There was no formula to it other than the fact that both events were low-cost and sounded like fun, and that's pretty much it.

I thought that going downtown, where the music and food trucks promised to bring in a cross-section of people, would be a good way to see a microcosm of the city. I suppose it also seemed most similar to the type of celebrations I'm used to in Lexington, where most of the main events take place downtown. I went to the Observatory because I was fascinated by the prospect of watching multiple fireworks shows going off at once. That promised to be quite a spectacle (and it was). Why restrict yourself to one fireworks show if you can see all of them for the cost of bus fare to the top? I had already enjoyed some fireworks that I could see from my window the night before; it was nice to have such a good view without having to go anywhere.

On the Fourth itself, I was feeling a little daunted by the thought of looking for parking downtown, so I decided to park in Los Feliz and take the Metro in. When I got there, it was by no means deserted but wasn't exactly bursting at the seams either. I had to ask for directions to Grand Park, and I told someone that at first glance it really didn't seem like the Fourth of July. I was comparing it with Fourth of July celebrations I remembered from Lexington and actually felt a bit homesick for a little while. Never mind the fact that I hadn't attended any downtown festivities in Lexington for quite a while; I believe I was remembering Fourth of Julys from happier times. Certainly, the celebration in Lexington used to have a "Main Street USA" feeling that was different from the feeling I got in scattered downtown L.A.

Once I made my way to Grand Park, I found a very lively scene and walked around for a while, taking a few pictures and trying to get the pulse of the place. I felt more like an observer than a participant, and it certainly didn't look like half the city had crowded into the festival area, but OK. The people-watching wasn't bad, and I had a really good chicken sandwich for dinner. I was starting to think of staying downtown instead of making the trek to Griffith Park, but I decided I'd be sorry if I missed the panoramic view while I had the chance, so I hopped back on the Metro at Pershing Square and caught the observatory shuttle at Sunset and Vermont.

I've been up to the Observatory before, but the bus trip to the top that night on a road crowded with cars and revelers was something I doubt I'll forget. That's where the traffic jam was, not downtown. The Observatory was brightly lit, and there were people everywhere at the top. When I got off the bus, I was rooted to the spot for a while, riveted by my first glimpse of the myriad lights of greater L.A. spread out below and fireworks going off simultaneously all over town. When I walked over the hill and to the side of the Observatory, the view was even better since I could see the L.A. skyline.

I felt something up at the Observatory that I had been missing earlier, a sense that L.A. had its own way of exhibiting pride in America, that it had something to show me that I had never quite seen before: what patriotism looks like when a number of individual celebrations are seen to be part of a greater whole. That's what America actually looks like on the Fourth of July, after all, if you could reach a high enough vantage point to see it all at once. What my Fourth of July in L.A. lacked in intimacy it made up for in awe. I think it would have been nice if someone had arranged to have a band playing patriotic music in front of the Observatory, and maybe a few ice cream stands and flags and so on, but for sheer visual fascination, I've rarely seen anything to beat the view.

The ride down on a crowded bus was a little tiresome, but never mind that. I was glad I went, and I only had to walk around for about 10 minutes before finding where I had parked my car. When I got there, I was greeted by two nocturnal animals of uncertain pedigree grazing in the grass nearby. I had two thoughts, and one of them was badgers. Since I didn't think L.A. even has badgers, I was pretty sure I was looking at skunks. I gave them a respectful distance, and it ended happily for all concerned. On the way back to my lodging, I saw multiple fireworks going off all along the way, and it was the first Fourth of July I can remember that ended in fireworks partly shrouded in fog.

So that was about it: fireworks, food trucks, a chicken sandwich, Metro rides, incredible views, skunks, and a finale of fog. The experience would have been enhanced if I had had someone to share it with, but I will go ahead and make a recommendation: if you ever find yourself in L.A. on the Fourth of July, alone or not, make your way up to Griffith Observatory to cap things off. You'll never see fireworks in quite the same way again, and maybe, by that time, someone will have thought to hire a band for the night.

Off-Trail on the Fourth of July

The Fourth of July has come and gone, and it was a quiet one here. I considered taking my lawn chair to the top of the hill and watching the official fireworks from there, though I never found out if the show was even being held downtown, and the weather didn't seem that promising. I also considered seeing if I could buy sparklers for my own mini-celebration: I had a momentary vision of myself twirling one in each hand like a majorette while running around the yard. In the end, though, I settled for a walk in the park, conducted with what I believe was the proper amount of adult decorum, though I did sing a little when no one was near.

It was a humid, cloudy evening, and most of the action was obviously elsewhere as the neighborhood was quite still except for the sound of firecrackers going off here and there. The June bugs, the fireflies (which lit up the woods and grass like a convocation of fallen stars), and I had the place mostly to ourselves except for a few determined walkers. I went off-trail, which I enjoy doing now and then because there are a number of beguiling paths winding across the meadows and through the trees, and anyway, why rush? The Fourth of July should be spent outdoors.

It was while I was wandering through the trees that a partial clearing in the west revealed a fiery orange sunset, which faded briefly to pink before sinking into grayness. Something about that brief, almost lurid glow, along with the fact that I was remembering a particular family Fourth of July from long ago, got me to thinking about my grandparents' backyard, and before I knew it, I had mentally transposed this sunset onto that setting. I don't recall ever seeing a sunset like that at my grandparents' house, but my mind brought the two things together in a sort of magical prelude to a short story in which I imagined walking out of the woods and into that long-ago yard (which doesn't exist anymore) with an adult sensibility.

I wrote the story in my head while standing in the woods, imagining how it would end, and by the time I did that and walked out of the trees, the actual sunset itself was going. I'm not sure why an image never seen before melded itself so seamlessly to an actual memory, but it did, and that was how I came to be writing a short story in my head, in the park, on the Fourth of July, instead of barbecuing or celebrating in some other more expected way. But after all, it was Independence Day, a holiday in the spirit of defying tradition if there ever was one.

As the sun went down, I got a glimpse of some far-off fireworks exploding on the horizon, and on the way home, I paused briefly to watch a more modest fireworks celebration being conducted by a family or two on a court behind the student housing complex. So, in the end, my low-key Fourth, unambitious as it was, was not devoid of either inspiration or firecrackers--as no Independence Day should ever be.