We spend our fifth consecutive July 4th in Williams.
Williams, AZ is a great little town. I mean, I really can’t say enough good things about it. But I’ll save some of those good things for another entry. This entry deals with our fifth July 4th in the town.
We started going to Williams for July 4th celebrations not long after we bought our place at Howard Mesa. Mike likes fireworks and Williams has ’em. It’s also 20° cooler than Wickenburg in July, which really counts when Wickenburg is 105°F. And let’s face it: Wickenburg probably has the worst July 4th fireworks in the entire country.
Williams has a July 4th Parade. But unlike most parades, the parade at Williams is held in the evening. In fact, it was still going on when Mike, Matt, Liz, and I drove into town at 6:15 PM for dinner at the Italian restaurant. Why in the evening? Well, Williams lives and breathes for the Grand Canyon, 60 miles to the north. Its tourist activities are in the morning, before folks leave their hotels for the GC or other destinations, or in the evening, when folks return from their day at the GC or arrive from other locations. It’s kind of a stopping point for lots of GC tourists. Williams is also home of the Grand Canyon Railroad, which runs a real steam engine to the GC and back every day. There are lots of hotels and restaurants and gift shops. And unlike other towns, the downtown area of Williams is not a showcase of empty storefronts and “not a retail outlet” offices. There’s plenty to see and do and buy, just strolling through town.
The parade was good for us — at least, that’s what we thought. Everyone would be watching the parade, so we could easily get a table in the restaurant. It appeared at first that we were right; there were plenty of tables. But when those tables never filled, we were a bit baffled. I mean, the food was good — I’d certainly go there again. The price was okay — not cheap but not outrageous. (After all, it is a tourist town.) But then Mike figured it out. The restaurant was on the west end of town, a bit beyond walking distance of the nightly shootout and other activities. Tourists like things in their faces. This wasn’t. Their loss.
Our waitress was Asian. That was really weird for me. After all, we were in an Italian restaurant. She spoke perfect English, with a very heavy Asian — Korean? Chinese? — accent. She was sharp as a tack and joked around with us. It was so refreshing to have a waitress who was fun.
I really need to get out more.
Afterward, we walked back to the car, which was conveniently parked in an area where we could watch the fireworks. We took folding chairs out and set them up in a grassy area across the street where other people were already set up. It was about 8:20 and the sun had gone down about 40 minutes before. The sky in the northwest, which we faced, was dark blue fading to redish violet at the horizon. Venus and whatever star that is that’s hanging around with it these days dipped toward the hills as we chatted, finally disappearing. Then it was 9:20 and the fireworks began.
At Williams, they shoot off fireworks in an empty field beside a manmade lake, just north of I-40. It’s a great spot because there’s little chance of the fireworks starting a fire with all that water so close by. Most of the observation areas are on the south side of I-40, so you look past the highway to see the fireworks. Not a big deal, because the highway is on the ground and the fireworks are in the air. Our observation point was farther south, on the south side of the railroad tracks. We had a perfect, unobstructed view, but we were a bit far away for my taste. I like to hear the explosions when the fireworks burst open — not 3 seconds later. I like to feel those explosions in my gut. I like my ears to ring when it’s all over.
Williams must have a considerable budget for fireworks because they sure shoot off a lot of them. And they don’t do them one at a time, like other small towns do. They light off a bunch at once, so there’s a lot to see. This year, the pauses between segments seemed a bit longer than usual. That could have something to do with one of the fireworks exploding on or near the ground. (There was a really long pause after that one.) But the whole show lasted about 30 minutes and the finale was five minutes of nonstop explosions of color that began right after the train went by. (I wonder if they knew the train was coming and waited until it was past?)
During the show, the wind shifted and began blowing from the north. The temperature dropped down to about 70°F; which left us thin-blooded low desert dwellers shivering in our seats. But I’ll take a cool breeze over a sweaty summer night any day.
We drove back to Howard Mesa, watching the cars and trucks in front of us on route 64 peel away to other communities along the way. The road to our place was dark and the sky was full of stars. It was a nice end to a great evening out with friends.
I didn’t see or smell smoke all day yesterday. But in the evening, as the sun was setting, I saw the smoke on the northwestern horizon. Probably the fire out in the St. George area about 120 miles away. This morning, the smoke from Arizona’s big fire — the second biggest in its history — had drifted north, past the San Francisco Peaks, shrouding the eastern horizon. I almost missed the sunrise. The sun fought to be seen through the thick smoke, appearing as an orange globe poking out through the top of the thickest of it. There was little light from the sun at first. Then, when it broke clear of the cloud layer, I could feel its bright warmth. The smoke cloud faded back to a blue-gray blanket on the horizon.
I didn’t have to cut any wood. I’d bought all the wood pre-cut to my specifications. There’s a hardware store in Wickenburg (Johnson Lumber) that is very nice about cutting wood for me and that’s where I bought it. I took measurements last time I was up here, so I had exact numbers. That was odd because the vertical studs each needed to be a different length. When I assembled all the pieces, they fit perfectly.
To see whether I’d be able to get my ever-growing butt past the bathroom vanity once it was installed, I took it out of its box and set it in place. That’s when I realized why it had only cost me $78 assembled with a sink basin: it was a piece of junk. It was falling apart and I had to use some skinny nails I happened to have to bang it all back together. Then I placed the basin in (partially to help hold the thing together) and moved it into place, trying to imagine a wall behind it. Yes, I could walk past it. Next, I worked on the ladder we’d use to get up to the loft. The loft is about 6-1/2 feet high, and just tall enough to sit up comfortably on. We’ll be putting a bed up there. Well, a mattress. And some carpeting under it. I positioned one 8-foot 2×4 on an angle against the edge of the loft, then took the precut 18-inch long pieces and a level and marked off where they’d need to be nailed in. The ladder’s rungs need to be parallel to the ground. This is something I learned when I built my first loft, back in college. The first ladder’s steps had been perpendicular to the sides and the ladder had been placed vertically. This made it very difficult to negotiate. So I put the ladder on an angle and then had to reposition the steps so I wouldn’t hurt my bare feet climbing up and down.
Horses are herd animals. That means they like to be together. When the lead horse moves, the rest of the herd follows. My horses follow that rule. I only have two of them: Jake, a sorrel Quarter Horse, and Cherokee, a Paint Quarter Horse. Jake is generally the boss, but they’re good buddies and they’re always within sight of each other, if not right next to each other.
It took some doing, but I finally found Jake about a third of the way down the hill, at least a quarter mile away. I called him, but even if he heard me (which I doubt), I knew he wouldn’t come. (Jake is not like a dog. He’s more like a cat.) So I called Cherokee. At least he indicated that he heard me. But he was too panicky to even think of why I might be calling him. Long story not as long: I went back to the round pen, put the lead rope on Cherokee, and led him down toward Jake. When I had a good view of him, I pointed him out. But horses don’t understand pointing fingers. He looked everywhere except where I was pointing. Then Jake saw us. He let out a loud whinny that seemed to say, “What the hell are you doing up there?” Cherokee whinnied back. I took off the lead rope and he trotted down to his buddy.