My Feelings on The 4th of July

At camp this week, S painted with red and blue paint on white paper. She came home with an American flag happily clutched in her fist. The other children commented on the flags stuck in the dirt lining the sidewalk. Proudly recognizing their country’s flag. 

Inside, I raged. What are we teaching them?

I hung the painting on the fridge and wanted to toss the flag straight in the trash. Then I thought about it for a moment and instead stuck it upside down in her play table. An upside down flag is the signal people are using to show we are a nation in distress. You're never too young to learn that you live in a nation built on stolen land and bigotry. 

Celebrating the 4th With Littles

Today is the 4th of July. We just cut SNAP and Medicaid for millions of Americans. We’re building concentration camps in Florida. I’m trying to build a career helping horses while wondering if anyone will even be able to afford to have a horse a decade from now. Somehow saving the lives of horses feels trivial when the lives of people are at stake.

I won’t teach my kid to look at the flag with blind love and respect. I’m going to try to present a balanced view that doesn’t leave her bitter or cynical, but I will teach her what’s real. 

Today, there were no red, white, and blue outfits or fireworks. Instead, we ensured our house was clean so our minds could be free to enjoy the day. I puttered in the garden and trimmed a cadaver hoof for class. Q and S took their new bike trailer out for a spin. In short, we took care of our mental health first.

Telling them the Truth From the Start

S played with her flag a little bit, and Q talked to her about how our government only cares about rich white people. He explained how that impacts families all around us. We reminded her how dang lucky we are in this life. She can’t understand us now, but she can feel our energy. That matters.

We ended the day out on the patio with a big charcuterie board. S had a snacky dinner, entertaining us with her antics in the backyard and swinging by for bites of this or that. We laughed. We marveled at our girl.

She tried to eat the tiny fallen oranges that the tree discards when too many flowers set. Quinn dissuaded her from doing this by making it a game to throw them at me instead. I caught them and tossed them back at them. It was a beautiful day.

But we also held space for those who couldn’t enjoy today. Those who are in hiding. Those who have already been torn apart. Those who live every day in fear of deportation or lack of essentials. 

On this homestead, we don’t celebrate Thanksgiving by remembering the pilgrims, and we don’t light off firecrackers with blind patriotism on the 4th. We talk about and recognize the man behind the curtain. The ugly parts of history and present-day reality that shape our country. 

A Night of Terror

While I type this out, the sun is setting, and S is asleep in her crib in the next room. My phone is lighting up every few minutes with Watch Duty notifications as fires crop up all over the county. Thankfully, the wind and the position of the lake are in the horses’ favor tonight. I’ll still check every notification and go to them at the first sign of trouble.

The house is shaking with the booms of fireworks, and I suspect this will go on late into the night. Sirens are blaring as first responders get called to the scene after scene of idiocy. I have no idea what people are thinking. How they can justify the risk wildfires and the deaths of terrified animals for some thrilling lights and bangs. 

When will we start taking care of each other? What steps will I take to walk this talk this week?