A Meadow Tea Nighthawk

+ Gearing Up For The 4th

Vol. 159, July 1st, 2025 Published a day early online

Meadow Tea Postcard

Summer arrived in the heights, bright and green and fierce and lazy and laced with ten thousand blossoms. I usually visit when it’s cold, or autumn, a time for memories and nostalgia. This was different. But the mountains always feel like a parent, holding me up to see the world, and I feel young again.

The Indigo Bunting birds burned an electric blue, sparking across verdant fields of fern and milkweed. The butterflies wouldn’t concede the point, and shimmered in orange and black and yellow. Only the cloud was subdued, but what it lacked in color, it made up for in presence, parking itself on the mountain for a few hours. Butterfly weed smoldered tangerine through the haze, risking Smokey Bear’s ire.

I spent a day up there, drinking it in. Tourists buzzed around like the bumblebees, all of us thirsty for this. I sat on a log rail, staring out over a meadow into the blue west. An elderberry guarded the edge of the woods, blooming white, and the mountain breeze blew warm, carrying the smell of fern and flowers and wild sunshine. It’s like meadow tea. If I could send you some, I would.

This will have to do.

Look!

A goldfinch.

Alpine Garden

Milkweed blooms at three thousand feet, gracing a mountain meadow in Shenandoah National Park.

Carol’s Appalachian Word of the Week

Afeared (afraid): “I’m afeared Tommy won’t get that job.”

The Rumble Begins

The first vote on the resolution for independence happens July 1st, 1776. It’s not a slam dunk.

Quote for the Day

“There, I guess King George will be able to read that.”

–John Hancock, first signer of the Declaration

Document of the Week

Declaration of Independence (1776)

“When in the Course of human events”...The ultimate Dear John letter. God bless ‘em. We’ll have the full text posted on Friday. In the meantime, check it out here.

Letters from Josh

(A weekly update from Josh Urban’s adventures on the farm and in the city. #239)

Appearing in the Altavista Journal, etc: My Fellow Americans

Howdy, folks, and welcome back to the show! Happy birthday, America. Good thing the 4th of July is in July. What if independence was declared on a rainy day in March? It wouldn’t be American. Here we stand, packed in under the heat, sweating towards something better–and having a good time of it. The barbecue smoke wafts through the air, the watermelon is sweet and cold, and soon, we’ll light the night on fire. That seems right.

I’m America First. That’s a zesty thing to say, but I’m talking about We The People, deeper than any politics. The us in USA, and the land we live in: Johnny Cash, Elvis, stained glass windows in the little churches, trains rumbling along the mighty rivers, kids playing in the park, highways and byways, green beans still warm of the vine, and Saturday evenings cutting the lawn. The idea that rights aren’t given by other people, but by God, inalienable–If we pay attention. The spirit of hard work, and how it makes us better. Freedom. Good stuff, worth defending, worth building, worth celebrating–bigger than any government.

It looked like the world was ending the other night. But I was hungry, and went to the grocery store anyway, looking like a bum. Another guy walked in, looking worse. It didn’t matter. I was so glad to see him.

People rock. They’re a wellspring of evil sometimes, but also a torch of Good, created in the image of God. They forget to use their turn signals, and I get mad in the summer blaze. But it could be a lot hotter. Better to be irked than nuked.

I used to believe in Utopia. I used to stomp around and think my problems were somebody’s fault. I used to be a teenager.

One juvenile 4th of July found me in ultra-punk mode, grumping about “the system” and thoroughly irritating the people who watched the horses. Those little noisemakers didn’t go over so well, but I think I blamed the government for my bad mood. “We’re celebrating an imperial war machine.” I see now that it was my own teenage confusion crushing me. It seems easier to point fingers than look in mirrors, because “it’s harder to rule yourself than a city”.

Took me a while to figure that out. But I’m glad I did, because now I see how lucky I am to be an American. It’s an idea, not any administration. It’s a spirit, not politics. It’s something that could be, more foundational than Red or Blue.

Yes, there are serious flaws, a troubled past, and war machines to be avoided. America’s birthday celebrates something complicated. But so does anyone’s party. I’d rather join hands and push forward instead of smashing it to pieces. Americans like to do big things. Let’s keep at it. COVID taught me to cherish the Ordinary. For a moment on that recent Saturday night, I thought we would all turn to ashes. Maybe WWIII will still happen. But as long as I can reach out a hand, I’ll shake yours, and wish you a hearty Happy 4th of July, neighbor. There is a bounty to celebrate, and many things to aim for, together. Let’s rock it.

Aren’t we lucky?

–Josh