"With a tear in your eye for the 4th of July, for the patriots and the minute men and the things you believe they believed in then such as freedom..."

On July 4, under the misty cover of morning, I began to roll the towels and stock provisions. We loaded the truck and set forth, bravely declaring our independence from the oppressive rain of the Catskills. In pursuit of life, liberty and sunshine we crossed bridges and traversed the Bronx searching for sand. By 10:00 a.m., we had staked our claim, six inches above the high tide mark at Jones Beach.

There were 12 of us on this adventure. Three generations of weary sun-deprived souls, water logged from the unending rains of June that continue their assault. We were longing for a brief look at summer, and willing to creep out of the secluded Catskill woods and face holiday traffic through New York City and onto Long Island just to get it. It was an act of desperation, an unprecedented event.

It was a good road trip. As we crossed the Tappan Zee Bridge, Dennis recalled a 4th of July some 30 years ago on which he and his rowdy teenage companions rolled a car on the bridge. They were lucky to be alive, and lucky the cops did not search the trunk. Having anticipated the moment for miles, we became giddy when we tuned in WFUV and the signal was clear.

We were on the beach for over ten hours, my children, their cousins from out of state, and my in-laws. Dennis' brother and sister had been visiting us for a few days, most of which seemed to be spent in a frantic run to take cover from storms. A sunny day at the beach was a blessing.

The three eleven year old boys were in their glory, digging a moat around our blankets. My daughter the mermaid, and her teenage cousin spent much of the day laying on their backs side by side, with a towel draped over both their faces, goggling.

The girls found an abandoned beach umbrella in the garbage and fastened it into a flag which marked our territory. We had everything we needed. Two cases of fresh water, cherries, watermelon, homemade bread, yogurt, cheese and grilled chicken and homemade chocolate chip cookies. It takes a lot of food to spend a day in the sun. Our frequent forages into the cooler were interspersed with jaunts to the boardwalk in search of additional sustenance, the gyros, zeppolas, french fries, afternoon coffee and over-priced iced cold beer.

I was amazed by the efficiency with which the Parks Department runs things at Jones Beach. The Ladies' room was amazing. A fast moving line wrapped out of the building and and down the boardwalk. Inside, a team of women ran things like air-traffic controllers. I could hear one on the left side yell, "Two Left!" and the woman working the head of the line would dispatch the next two patrons to the left side of the bath house, where two women were stationed, each pointing to open stalls, and saying, "Have a good day at the beach!"
And so it went: "One right!"
"One left!"
"Two right!"
"Have a good day!"

The arrival of a tug boat towing a barge of fireworks was a highlight of the day, reminding us why we were there. We enjoyed most of the sights, although we considered forming a new support group CCF-CBC Concerned Citizens For The Coverage Of Butt Cracks. Initially there was disappointment when the high tide failed to breach our berm. Disappointment was followed by high fives when we realized the high berms and deep trenches made perfect recliners from which to witness the pyrotechnic display.

As the light softened at sunset, Dennis took family portraits. As the moon rose we huddled under blankets. When the first few notes of John Mellencamp rang across the night we looked to the sky. Colors soared from the barge and exploded into the sky.