As an excuse to reschedule fireworks, fire works

When the wildfire smoke that blanketed our area all summer prompted the cancellation of Redding’s annual "Lights of Liberty" Fourth of July fireworks, city officials immediately rescheduled them—for October. At the time, it seemed a fairly odd idea. But when the sky dimmed after last night’s out-of-season display, it had proven to be a welcome change of pace.

Fireworks are a big deal in these parts. While the North State has embarrassing riches of tourist-drawing natural beauty and recreational opportunities, Redding itself has by comparison very little to offer. There's Turtle Bay Exploration Park, the adjoining Sundial Bridge, and Big League Dreams Sports Park. That's about it.

With mid-priced hotels, restaurants, and gas stations situated along Interstate 5 and rundown motels inhabiting a downtown trying to reinvent itself, Redding is struggling to become more than a "gas station stop," as a well-traveled friend of mine referred to it shortly after we moved here. At that time, real estate was booming, businesses were arriving in droves, and the city was undergoing a transformation that hinted at a Renaissance. But when the housing market collapsed and new construction came to a screeching halt, the effects rippled through Redding like dominoes of doom.

Unemployment, at 9.5% last month, has skyrocketed. Underemployment has followed suit, with adults working in low-paying service and retail jobs out of desperation. Meanwhile, businesses are folding left and right, foreclosures and personal bankruptcies are epidemic, and the sales tax that is such an important component of the city's revenues has eroded horribly as a result of all this.

But like many mid-sized, economically-challenged cities, Redding, with an estimated population of 90,000 and a median household income around $40,000, is a proud community. High school sports make the evening news. Parades and other civic events are frequent and well-attended. And the fireworks—the largest display in Northern California—give the city bragging rights. Ask Reddingites what they like about living here, and fireworks inevitably make the short list.

Last night was typical of the event. Consisting of 3,500 shells with a price tag of $90,000—funded fully by the same non-profit foundation that paid for the bridge and the arboretum at Turtle Bay—the show, choreographed to patriotic music on the local college radio station, ran just under half an hour. If that doesn't sound big, it is. By the time the grand finale rolls around, you're left feeling impressed, satisfied, and in awe.

We seized upon the opportunity to throw together an impromptu block party, and while it wasn’t the success we’d hoped—in part because so many locals make plans far in advance for the event—the chance to set aside economic and political worries and just hang out was like a breath of fresh air. We ate, we talked, and we let the kids go wild. It was wonderful.

Perched on the hillside patio of neighbors who’d been kind enough to share their perfect view of the city, Kelly and I sat back and took it all in as soon as the explosions began, and the kids followed suit. Zach, normally indifferent about fireworks, reported having a great time. Zoë, wiped out by then, ignored her friends and cuddled next to me. And Zienna, for the first time seeing fireworks she was old enough to appreciate, repeatedly exclaimed, “Oh, how BOOTiful!”

These were simple pleasures and perfectly timed. As we parted, there were comments that this should be a new tradition. It was hard to argue. With earlier darkness, we were back home by 9:00 rather than 10:30. With temperatures in the 60s, we weren’t sweating or being devoured by mosquitoes. And without the pressure to celebrate an official holiday, things were a whole lot more relaxing.

Fourth of July in October? Yeah, I could go for that.