July 7, Main Street

By Carrie Jacobson

Wachapreague, where we live, could barely be smaller and still be a town. In addition to Peter and me, there are just about 198 other souls living here, some of them only part-time.

As for municipal staff, there is a mayor, but he doesn’t go into town hall unless there’s a meeting. There’s a town clerk who works maybe 20 hours a week, and then there is the public works crew, JD and John. They do all the mowing and trimming, pick up the brush and the trash, keep the town signs painted and the town property sparkling, fix stuff that breaks, and put up and take down the flags on Main Street.

Main Street, as you might imagine, is not very long. There aren’t that many flags. But when the flags go up, I feel festive and happy. I love seeing them hanging, bright and shining and fluttering in the wind.

Our teeny town had a great July Fourth celebration, which the hurricane blew to  July Fifth. There was a small, sweet parade, with golf carts, kids on bikes, Coast Guard guys towing a Coast Guard boat, and two floats, one legitimate, one just a sort-of float. It took about five minutes – the right length for a parade, in my book.

Afterwards, there was a cookout, and a band, and people paragliding out of a plane. And at night, there were amazing, amazing fireworks, funded and set off by a guy in town.

And then on Monday, JD drove while John took down the flags. I was sorry to see them go.

This weekend felt like America to me. It felt like the dream of America, the idea I had as a kid, of an America of sunny summer days, spent with people that I love, laughing and enjoying life, in a small, quiet place.