This year we began what I hope will be a new tradition for our family. I decided to accept the invitation to go and watch two of my sisters, and a few of their children, run in a race at a nearby city park. As I stood at the finish line watching for family members to cross I looked into the faces of those coming across the finish line. They came from all walks of life and were of every shape and size. Nearly every one of them looked to their watch as they crossed the finish, each competing against themselves and their own best time. I stood there and clapped for total strangers who pushed themselves to finish “their” race. As I tried to yell out “GOOD JOB” my voice left me, swept away by emotion. It occurred to me that I would rather be no place on earth at that moment, on our country’s Independence day, than standing there with my husband and daughters taking in the lessons of hard work, endurance and the joy that comes from reaching your destination. The analogies of life and spirituality go on and on but for me that day I felt it like I never have before. After the children’s race was completed we began to walk away only to overhear that there was still one more “runner” coming down the path. He was 98 years old being held on the right side by someone I am guessing was his granddaughter. We watched as the race officials ran over to reset the timer that had already been cleared so that he too would have every experience that the race had to offer. He could barely walk let alone run but he was still out there running his race. I was inspired, I was proud, I was humble as a member of this great community and country on such a celebration.

When we walked over to watch the parade I once again swelled with emotion as we stood, hand over our hearts, for the flag to pass by where we sat with our family. The woman next to me kept yelling “THANK YOU” to the soldiers. I too wanted to yell “THANK YOU” just as I had wanted to yell out to the runners of the race earlier but I could not. I felt such gratitude and admiration. I looked to the curb where my children stood, hands over their heart, eyes wide. What an education! I can’t wait for next year to go watch the parade and to cheer on those who run their races and to witness the winning spirit that is within us all if only we will sign up for and set out on our own races. Who knows maybe I’ll even enter and run my own!

We held the first-ever Pennington Family Wilderness Picnic this year! As our family has recently jumped off the conveyor belt (May), we determined to hasten our detox by spending as much time as possible in the wilderness as a family. I love to camp and it was my hope that the natural settings would hasten each individual's relationship with our Heavenly Father as well as strengthen our familial bonds.

It was my plan that while hiking the interior hills of Colorado we would all put aside the strong pulls of society, especially technological leisure and disrespect for human interaction, to focus on becoming full of love and appreciation for each other--hey, we might even come home with a sense of mission (for the parents) and a love of learning (for the kids). I envisioned each of us shedding another piece of the emotional and mental "uniforms" of the last 5 years of public charter school with every trail-step. Imagine all the enlightened conversations that would pop up between us with nothing to do but talk!

Summers past seemed so carefree and suddenly this year the knowledge that "this is our life from now on" is a bit disconcerting for us all. Undoubtedly, it has been a struggle for us all to establish true relationships through imposter bonds that have been forged weekday evenings and weekends only. In our family, siblings and parents are only now learning how to form a real-family connection by living with and loving each other on an "every-hour" basis.

Our first attempt to camp as a family was not as heart-warming as this mom had hoped. Our hike was somewhat silent and lacked any meaningful (i.e., revelatory) conversation. There were several accidents that drew blood and the ground on which we had so carefully pitched our tent was HARD. We stayed only one night. Luckily we had our campfire and s’mores to comfort us, though everyone was cranky from the lack of sleep and toilets. (As a young girl, you would hate your parents too if they handed you a spoon after you whispered it was #2. And let's just say that wet spots weren't limited to the underarms of our T-shirts.)

Understandably, as our Independence Day moved closer, we were tempted to return to the habit of previous Julys: BBQ with friends at their swimming pool followed by municipal fireworks at sunset-plenty of food, toilets, and air conditioning. But we would be free to leave each other for the comfort of our friends' company. It didn't fit with this summer's goals, so a new tradition was born! (Although what was left of my popularity died with it.)

My children agreed to a wilderness picnic where there would be toilets nearby. I needed a semi-remote destination where we could hike and still get back to the bathrooms when nature called. We settled on Garden of the Gods in Colorado Springs.

I could see the future in this compromise: our family would spend this 4th of July (and all others from this time forth) outdoors reveling in the freedoms of health and spirituality! Eventually in later years we would bring a more historical and political meaning to the events of the day, maybe even invite close friends to solemnly contribute original food and thought.

At 9a.m., we declared the self-evident fact that our picnic site should be under the only scraggly trees in our area among those red rocks. The picnic table provided by the park was still several feet away, but we would manage. We came prepared with a tent and some camping chairs, and our Coleman stove fit perfectly on the BBQ grill next to the picnic table. Best of all, the restrooms were only 50 feet away!

Immediately upon setting up camp, we hiked a very sandy path with some trepidation for the coming heat and much grumbling about the energy-sucking incline. After only a few minutes we were met with a horseback tour. My six-year-old stood ecstatic as the equestiran train passed! The horses were so close that she could see the whites of their eyes and hear the plop of their poop. "I want to ride a horse, too!" My heart warmed to witness this inspiration, and we talked about horses and riding and their care all the way to the cement path we were looking for.

There is a special paved path in the Garden of the Gods that wanders in several directions but loops back to a center area that offers a great view of Pike's Peak. The path commemorates the hard work of the park's first caretaker and showcases his most favorite area among the rocks of the park. As we approached, we could hear music. My duaghters hastened to see the harpist who offered the soundtrack for this bold day. The soft music seemed out of place among the sunglasses, sweat and skinned knees of the visitors.

She played well-known tunes that we all take for granted, including the patriotic ones, of course. My children were enthralled with the site of the instrument and its sound. I marveled as I witnessed the skilled musician fill the air with the same sparkle of music that lighted their amazed eyes. My 8 year old asked for lessons on the spot. For the second time that day, I stifled a victory cry as we began to speak with and learn from this very talented harpist. She described her study of the harp and shared her instrument’s strings with my children's curious fingers for several minutes.

She resumed playing, and as they watched, I turned to take in the view of the creation around us. I could not hold back the tears then and did my best to just wisk them away as they came. I said a silent prayer of thanks for the freedoms we enjoy in this country and this time I added to the list the freedoms to gain the education of my own choice and to teach my children as I see fit.

After we returned to our picnic site, we were surprised with a visit from a local buck. As he slowly strutted past our picnic table to be sure we didn't miss seeing his antlers, my almost-ten-year-old (our oldest child) stood agape. She kept her eyes trained to his form as he jumped over the small, dry creek bed beside our picnic table and climbed up a short incline on the other side with such grace and ease that I knew the sport fan/wildlife lover inside her was screaming approval. Her smile confirmed my suspicions. The only thing she loves more than basketball is her birds at home, and we talked about ways to train her birds to have more confidence around humans like that deer.

But for a few chips and some watermelon, we barely ate our food. No one was as hungry for food as much as they were desperate for a swimming pool. With the excitement and our energy all gone, we dressed our burgers up for the sandwich bags, and loaded up the car. After a quick stop at the visitor's center (where no one read any plaques and mostly fought with each other to be first to see everything), we headed home. My almost-ten-year-old asked if we could still go to our friend's BBQ today, since it was only 3 p.m. I just sighed and smiled as I formulated an answer with big phrases like "gratitude for nature" and "celebrate our freedoms" and "future possibilities" that I'm sure made her eyes roll to meet the inside of her skull.

Somehow I knew that no plain ol' fireworks show could compare to the one I'd already seen with horses, a harp, and a buck. I like this new family tradition already.

I grew up in a large city in California. Although our area was highly agricultural it was still a big city with a little less than 300,000 people and had the not so nice honor of having the sixth highest crime rate in the nation. Çelebrating the Fourth of July was really nothing special.

I now live in a rural area where the people are VERY proud of their heritage both as Americans and also their pioneer ancestors that settled this area. It's a duo of two small towns that run together. And I just happen to live in the one with the not so usual tradition of "The Firing of the Anvil" on the Fourth of July.

I was introduced to this tradition shortly after marrying my wonderful husband. We didn't live here then. We came up from the Valley (Phoenix, AZ for all of you non-Arizonans) for the Fourth of July. We stayed at my mother-in-law's house which just happens to be right across from the rodeo grounds. The rodeo grounds are the center of everything on the Fourth of July around here. There had been a dance the previous evening that had gone well past midnight. I was tired and just wanted to sleep. At 4:00 am I was ripped from sleep by a very loud "BOOM!!!" I had probably been asleep for less than 2 hours at that point. I was a bit annoyed to say the least! My husband laughingly told me, "Oh, it's just the Anvil." My response was, "What in the heck is "the Anvil"?!

After hearing the explanation of said tradition I was then serenaded with another "BOOM!" For those of you unfamiliar with this "Firing of the Anvil" stuff please let me give a brief explanation. Two anvils are used with one sitting upright and the other upside down on top of the first. A black powder charge is placed between the two. The black powder charge is then lit with a flame on the end of a long pole. When it explodes it makes a lot of noise and shoots the anvil on top about 20 feet in the air.

As I said earlier it all starts at 4:00 am. The first firing is the wake up call for the entire town. It goes off again at 4:30 again just in case anyone slept through it or was choosing to ignore it. Everyone gathers at the intersection where the old church and the elementary school are at 5:00 am for the official beginning of "The Firing of the Anvil " procession. The procession is headed by the truck carrying the Anvil from place to place and directly behind is the flatbed with "The Jennings Band" which features a drum that was carried across the Plains by Mormon pioneers and then brought to this area by Bro. Jennings. It has been played every Fourth of July since being brought here in the late 1800's.

There is only one proper and accepted uniform for participating in this odd parade. It's the only time anyone in this town willing wears their pajamas and uncombed hair proudly! We all know who the out of towners are because they are dressed and the women actually have put on their makeup.. "The Firing of the Anvil" procession goes on for more than an hour. We go all over town. There are water balloon fights and lots of patriotic singing along the way. Nothing organized of course but definitely full of spirit! And, of course, at every firing there is loud cheering and the band plays.

I have now wholeheartedly embraced this great tradition. Our children look forward to it all year. The only thing we remember is to be sure that we retire to our beds wearing something that is somewhat respectable so as not to be caught groggy and half dressed wandering around town in the morning. One wouldn't want to find ones self on the front page of next weeks local paper half naked!

Cindy

First things first!