Credit Where Credit Is Due

I admit I've been less than kind to the people of Bako, pointing out transgressions big and small for the better part of a year. But I'm nothing if not fair, and when they do something right they deserve some attaboys too. And let me tell you, these people do the Fourth of July right.

We weren't even supposed to be here; the plan was to spend this weekend looking for a new place to live. That didn't happen for a variety of reasons, but we did manage to spend the day out of town with friends.

We were on our way back, approaching the city around 9pm, when off to the left there was a sudden bloom of aerial fireworks. And another. And another. I was a little surprised because the last I had heard the city's annual fireworks show had fallen under the budget ax and had been cancelled. But then there were more, this time off to the right. And then they just kept multiplying as far as you could see. It soon became obvious that these weren't "official" displays; they were all being shot off from residential neighborhoods. Where did they get them? Maybe Mexico, although there's only one place I know to get professional grade aerial fireworks... Indian reservations. I know this first hand from a drunken road trip years ago that included a stop at a Navajo reservation in Arizona and ended with a tree on fire.

But that's a story for another time.

By the time we reached our exit the entire horizon was ablaze with fireworks and we ended up driving right into a wall of smoke. Seriously, the smoke was as thick as the Tule fog of winter, and the air was heavy with the smell of sulfur. As we continued on to the house, every side street was enveloped in smoke and sparks, fireworks going off in every direction. The mood was infectious and both the boyfriend and I started channeling our inner 12 year old pyromanic.

And we couldn't help but notice all the fireworks stands were still open.

There wasn't even a moment's hesitation - we were going to get in on the action. We stopped at the stand closest to the house, sponsored by the Mennonites. They may be pacifists, but they weren't above selling high explosives for a good cause. We allowed ourselves $20 and the boyfriend went out to get the most bang for the buck.

This must be how the phrase originated.

He returned with a bag of fountains, including a monster the size and shape of a carton of oatmeal which would be our grand finale.

We didn't even bother unpacking the car; the minute we hit the driveway we were out in the street with our mini arsenal...






And the grand finale...



... which was appropriately called "Hasta la Vista".

"See you later".

Kind of poetic, considering we're hopefully on our way out of here.

And now I can say I have one really fond memory of our time in Bakersfield.

Thanks Bako!