Tales from Hogwaller Holler: Independence Day

© 2019 by Walter Reimer



I’ve heard tell of somewhere up north that there’s a dead guy, and if you happen to be around his grave at night you can hear him ask if the country’s doing all right.

I don’t credit it. They’re funny folks, up north.

Land sakes, it’s a hot day out today. Let me get another glass of lemonade poured, and we’ll have a talk.

The pitcher’s there, if you want a refill.

The furs up in Hogwaller Holler usually keep to themselves a bit more than other folk, but they know that they’re part of this country we all live in. When the call comes, they’ll grab whatever’s to paw and join up. Back during The Great War, and The One After That, and the ones after that, not a single fellow in the Holler ever got drafted. They volunteered, and it’s still pointed at with pride to this day.

What I’m trying to say is, you can’t keep a fellow from the Holler out of a good fight. Those Watts, especially; they love a good scrap.

Folks hold true to tradition up in the Holler, and I’m told – and although I like a good story, I ain’t one to lie – that near about fifty years after the town was founded, a rider come in from back East, and he said that he had news. Once they rang the church bell to draw a crowd, the rider started to tell everyone that the colony was breaking free of the King’s grip and joining the other colonies, you see, and a militia was being raised to fight the King’s army.

The rider never got to say much else after that, because about half the young fellows in town ran off to get their muskets, and the other half started organizing wagons and supplies for the trip eastward.

Like I say, these folks like themselves a fight.

Even though the closest they’d been to water was one of the lakes and rivers around the Holler, quite a few of the Watt and Hogwaller families marched straight to Norfolk and joined the Continental Navy. None of them had a lick of seafaring ability, but they figured that since they were descended from Red Porcus and Black Silas, they figured that piracy ran in their blood.

From what I’ve been told, blood did tell once they got over being seasick.

The colonial militia didn’t quite know what to make of the recruits from the Holler. Sure, they knew how to shoot like the frontiersmen they were, but danged if those opossums knew the first thing about discipline. Between battles they’d steal food from nearby farms or fight among themselves.

But when the fighting stopped, all of them – every pig, opossum, deer, badger, bear, raccoon, dog and cat – knew, by God, that they’d done something. A new country, and freedom.

It’s not just the folks up in Hogwaller Holler remember that. They told the Old Man, and that oak remembers. The land remembers.

Excuse me a minute, will you? Gotta wet my whistle a bit. Talking’s thirsty work.

Where was I? Yeah.

When the Late Great Unpleasantness came around, well, the folks up in the Holler remembered what their parents and grandparents had done. Those folk had built a united country, and they wanted it to stay united. So when the Rebs came along looking for recruits, well they were shown the town limit and told to stay out. By and large, they did. A few of the Watt boys went north, and fought to keep the Union whole – eh? Shouldn’t be a big surprise. Every Southern state saw boys go north.

You don’t see any sign of the Stars and Bars in Hogwaller Holler, either. Not now, not ever.

That’s all I’ll say about that, except that a few folks think that started the feud betwixt the Warfield and Thompson families, back around 1870 or so.

But I’m getting away from the point, here.

The Fourth of July up in Hogwaller Holler, that was my point, yes! That’s the problem with the heat in the summer.

Every year the whole town decks itself out in red, white and blue bunting and flags a day or two in advance, and on the Fourth there’s a big parade. High school band leads the way, followed by Mayor Hogwaller dressed as George Washington. Gonna be some comment about that this year, I think; Dorothy Hogwaller might cut a fine figure, meaning no disrespect, but she might have trouble fitting in the uniform. See, it was made for her father, who had a real problem stepping back from the dinner table if you know what I mean.

Some of the veterans take part in the parade, with the oldest in front of course. The town’s last World War Two veteran, Ralph Mills, well, he passed on last year; the oldest Korean War vet’s getting on a bit and rides in a convertible real slow. They say he sometimes wonders where he is.

Anyway, they do the parade in the morning before it gets too hot, and everyone brings food to the town square for dinner that night. They got tents set up to keep the sun off people, and there’s a DJ. There’s ice-cold beer for the grownups and cold drinks for everyone, and there’s barbecue – pretty much no one walks away hungry, and that’s on purpose.

Sundown, and the Mayor’ll give a speech, talking about patriotism of course. It’s a tradition that after the Mayor talks, all the clergy will get up and offer prayers for the country. Yeah, all of them, even the Wise Woman. And then there’s the fireworks.

The town starts laying money by for the fireworks a year in advance, and they set up on a cliff outside of town. The guys setting it up try to be real careful; no one wants a repeat of what happened in 2000 – eh? What happened in 2000?

Heh.

Let me get some more lemonade.

Well, there’s a bunch of guys up on the mountain, and they’re getting the fireworks set up. Hot day, that year, and they’ve been hitting the beer pretty heavy. Well, one of the guys up there was Luke Watt, Jessie Mae’s uncle. Luke’s the chief of police, but he got in trouble a while back for burning the city hall down. People sort of hoped he grew out of that.

So anyway Luke up and says, “You know, we need to make this really spectacular.”

One or two of the boys look at the opossum, and look at each other. A few of them remember what he did as a pup, so they get suspicious. They keep an eye on Luke until they’re all done and they head back down the mountain for dinner.

Luke Watt was born in Hogwaller Holler, and he’s a Watt through and through. Knows the mountains like the back of his paw, so he sneaks up a trail up the back of the mountain to where the fireworks are, and he moves one or two of them – not so you’d notice, mind, but a little can mean a lot, you know?

Kind of like a flake of snow can cause an avalanche.

Of course, it’s getting close to sundown, so the light’s starting to get a little chancy, and Luke trips. Most of the time he’s as surefooted as all the rest of the Watts, but he’d had some beer, you know? When he’s done, he heads back to town for dinner.

When it gets dark, the band strikes up some patriotic tunes and everyone looks up as the fireworks start. And it’s great; the couple that Luke’s moved go off right over the town and it’s a real crowd-pleaser. Everyone’s happy, and it’s a great Fourth of July.

Come the next day, and the guys are up on the mountain taking everything apart. Sure enough, the one Luke tripped over goes off, and damn if doesn’t go flying off and lands smack in the bed of Luke’s truck! I never did find out what he had in the back of that old Fjord of his, but it catches fire real easy and his truck’s on fire and Luke’s yelling and the other guys are laughing even while they’re trying to figure out how to put it out.

One damn fool, I heard, climbs up on the roof of Luke’s truck and starts to pee on the fire. Luke pulls him down and starts hitting him because hey, that’s his truck the guy’s standing on. When they finally get the opossum to stop fighting with the canine, the fire’s about out, so Luke’s all mad and he gets his keys and starts up and drives his truck down the mountain.

Which, yeah you guessed it, causes the fire to start again.

Since then, Luke’s not allowed to help with the fireworks. That come from Mayor Hogwaller, Luke’s older brother and head of the Watt Family, Ned Watt, and the Wise Woman. I don’t know which got through to him the furthest, but I’ll be willing to lay real money on May telling him to keep his paws to himself. All the Watts hold with the old traditions, you see.

But that’s Independence Day, up in Hogwaller Holler.