Everyone loves a parade . . . For the first time in the five years we have lived here, we made it to the Williamsburg Christmas Parade. It is at night, so lots of lighted floats, some even shooting snow! Although I enjoyed watching this parade, I am not generally a fan.
Our sorority had a homecoming float. Not only did I hate decorating it, I kept thinking how much the money spent could help the charities which we supported.
When I became a 4-H agent, our 4-H clubs decorated a float—lots of hours in a cold warehouse, and lots of expense. And I ended up with tonsilitis for Thanksgiving.
After Wallace and I were married, we rode in a few parades in Edmonton, Kentucky. One year, the leaders took a wrong turn, causing rearing motorcycles to be facing our less than pleased horses. Another year, Wallace and our son and a friend took off to ride cross country to the parade starting point at the fairgrounds. They never arrived. Thinking the worst, I drove back toward home and found them slowly riding back to our farm. It seems Brent’s pony had put her head down to take a drink as she crossed the creek and he ended up soaking wet.
Another year, Wallace was away, but our daughter, Wynn, and a friend were determined to ride. I hauled the horses to the starting point where we froze waiting for the parade marshal, who arrived thirty minutes late. They rode the circuit and back to the fairgrounds where I loaded the horses, made it home, unloaded, unhitched the trailer, fed the horses, and then drove two and half hours to meet Wallace in Lexington so that Wynn could compete in a winter tournament the next day.
Wynn rode in the Forest City, NC parade with no mishaps. Then after we moved to Rural Hall, North Carolina, Wallace decided to drive her new horse in the Christmas parade. The mare ran over me as he unloaded her. Then we hitched the mare and she was more or less okay with the flag girls twirling in front of her, prancing happily (American Saddlebred horses do love a parade). I was to drive the truck and trailer to the end point, then catch a ride back to the origin point to do the pooper-scooper duty. No one would give me a ride, so I hoofed back the mile parade route in time to pick up the wheelbarrow, followed the horse and cart to the end, scooping poop as it occurred. Not especially fun.
So last night I waved at the floats, appreciated their efforts and felt thankful I was not a participant.