Growing up in the South… wait. Let me rephrase that. Mostly growing up in the South, you learn a lot about living off of the land, farming, appreciating your surroundings. Not that I didn’t before. I mean, I grew up navigating the red woods of northern California chasing off bears, mountain lions and lost hippies. But down here, everything’s much slower, much more indulgent.
When I think of what the Fourth of July means to me, I think of fire…like, literal fire…as in, “Hey Dad, why did you set the yard on fire?” Or, “Hey Dad, are you sure you should be doing that?” Or, “Hey Dad, are you aware that YOU are on fire?” Or, “Hey Dad, the grill just went up in flames. How done did you want that steak?”