Independence Day and America’s birthday is almost upon us. The spacious skies above our hills stretch out blue and almost cloudless above us, save for a few puffy white clouds that seem to hang suspended.
The air crisply cool and invigorating. I see no amber waves of grain, but in the garden, long rows of sweet corn stand green and stalwart. The hills near at hand are green, but in the distance, Pilot Knob is clothed in shadows of purple majesty. Surely, God has shed His grace on us.
When I was a little girl, the Fourth of July meant fun and picnics, watermelon and fried chicken, fireworks and swimming. There has always been a race between gardeners to harvest the first mess of green beans, cucumbers and new potatoes. This year we are enjoying tender yellow squash and new potatoes, and the green beans are not too far behind.
Fried chicken and lemonade were always on the menu when I was growing up, whether we picnicked or ate at home. We didn’t run to the supermarket and pick up the packaged variety of chicken that we eat today. By the Fourth, Mom usually had spring fryers that were ready for the skillet. They had been fed yellow corn until they were fat and tender, and the flavor was superb.
I hated to see those chickens killed. I didn’t care to help chase them down, squawking and running, but I turned my head when they were executed. Mom would hold them by the feet with one hand, lay their necks across the chopping block, and sever their heads with one whack of the axe. Then she would turn them loose to flop and bleed, before plunging them into a tub of boiling water. She would then pluck the feathers from the hapless birds and singe the remaining hairs with a deft flash of a burning newspaper. The young roosters met their fate this way, while the pullets were saved to lay eggs.
The Fourth of July was a day of pleasure and celebration at that time, with scarcely a thought of the meaning of it. I can remember one of the earliest lessons in liberty that was taught back in Hagar School when I was a kid. Mr. Hinkle told us many times, “You have the freedom to swing your fist around in the air as much as you wish, just as long as it doesn’t connect with someone else’s nose. Your freedom ends where the other fellow’s nose begins.”
Do you remember how we pushed this freedom to the limit when we were kids? We got into a row every single time we made a trip in the car. We would sit, each in our own little space, and tattle.
“She’s got her foot over on my side,” Larry would report indignantly.
“He’s sitting on my dress tail!” I would retort.
“She’s breathing in my space,” would come the rejoinder.
Our own children took up the familiar refrain when they were small, and had to learn not to infringe on each other’s rights. (It is memories like this that makes a person realize that there is compensation in growing older—we can take an enjoyable trip in the car now without having to constantly arbitrate.)
Freedom is a privilege that we are prone to take for granted. We need to remember that Independence Day is more than fireworks and fun, but the freedom we enjoy was bought with a great price. Our Founding Fathers knew how to count the price of liberty. When they compiled the Declaration of Independence, they closed with these words, “With a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor.”
How far we have come today! As a nation, we seem to have forgotten that our country was founded by trust in God. It is not by chance that every coin minted in the United States bears, along with the bust of a past hero, these words: “Liberty—In God We Trust.”
Our forefathers knew the tremendous cost and sacrifice that had been made to secure our freedom. They continually acknowledged that God had made and preserved or nation. They warned future generations that the day that God was not earnestly revered in America, she would become a byword among nations. We would do well to heed their admonitions today.
Woodrow Wilson once stated, “A nation that does not remember what it was yesterday, does not know what it is today, nor what it is trying to do. We are trying to do a futile thing if we do not know where we came from or what we have been about.” America’s hope lies in returning to the godly values and precepts that were once held by our Founding Fathers.
I have a recipe sent in by Sidney Dent that I want to share, and I hope it’s not too late to gather some honeysuckle blossoms.
HONEYSUCKLE JELLY
4 cups honeysuckle blossoms, light to medium tan
4 ½ cups water
Juice of one lemon (about ¼ cup)
1 box pectin (he prefers Sure-Jel)
4 cups sugar
Pick blossoms in early morning or late evening when nectar is sweetest.
Wash blossoms thoroughly. Place blossoms and water in saucepan. Bring to boil; boil one minute.
Remove from heat and steep for two hours. Strain through coffee filter.
Add juice, lemon juice and pectin to saucepan. Bring to a boil, stirring frequently.
Add sugar, mix well, and boil one minute, stirring constantly.
Can in sterile jars. Invert jars for five minutes. Set upright for 30 minutes.
THE FLAG
By Arthur Macy
Here comes The Flag.
Hail it!
Who dares to drag
Or trail it?
Give it hurrahs,–
Three for the stars
Three for the bars.
Uncover your head to it!
The soldiers who tread to it
Shout at the sight of it.
The justice and right of it,
The unsullied white of it,
The blue and the red of it.
The tyranny’s dread of it!
Here come The Flag!
Cheer it!
Valley and crag
Shall hear it.
Fathers shall bless it,
Children caress it.
All maintain it.
No one shall stain it,
Cheers for the sailors that fought on the wave for it,
Cheers for the soldiers that always were brave for it,
Tears for the men that went down to the grave for it.
Here comes The Flag!
Enjoy America’s birthday, and pause for a minute to say a prayer for the men and women in our Armed Forces who are still fighting to ensure our freedom.
