Pioneer Day is always a time for us to head north to Bountiful. We invariably go to my aunt and uncle's house for a feed and family get together next to my grandfather's old garden patch at the home which was for many years my great-grandparent's.
Since we absolutely must, with threat of some ungodly sanction from on high if we miss it, too soon after arriving, we headed over to Main Street for the parade.

The sun shone heartily on Bountiful's 24th of July parade (held on the 21st), so heartily in fact that though it was seven thirty pm in the intermountain west, we were afraid that we'd made a wrong turn and had gone south from our home in SpringTowne instead of North. It was not unlike sitting on a street in Phoenix, watching a parade in the 103 degree heat. Stifling isn't even much of a descriptor, since I was willing to run a good race to get out of the heat. I would have sprinted a good ways.





Play, talk, running, shouting and general hijinx wore the kids out by the time we got home from the fireworks up the hill. The floor of the living room is made into a wide bed and all fall asleep, hopeful for promise of more fun on the morrow.