A long weekend in June

Before I was old enough to appreciate the true significance of the June long weekend, it meant just one thing to me. Cracker night. At my primary school. In our backyard. In our neighbour's backyards. Hundreds of fireworks displays launching all over the district. And I loved it. I associate cold, clear, night's in June with that very memory. My brother's and Dad setting them up on the lawn. The mad panic when each was lit. Then an excited dash back to the safety of the pergola area to watch them burst. Crackling, whooshing, exploding into colour against the dark sky. The residual smell of sulphur permeating the chilly air across the neighbourhood in a smoky haze. Then an emu bob of the frosty lawn next morning. Collecting empty plastic shells and little parachutes that had come to rest in obscure places all over the garden. Sweet sweet memories. 

It is a shame fireworks have been banned for private use. Though I do acknowledge the danger of them. We managed to avoid any damage to eyes, limbs and skin in our yard... though my Dad's beloved garage was not so lucky to escape a battle wound or two over the years. The scorched, black, pattern from a rogue firework, splattered on the old roller door was always a sign of a good cracker night. My Dad's dramatic reaction... equally priceless.

This June long weekend, delivered a mixed bag of happenings. Beautifully relaxing catch up's with wonderful friends. Wrestles and rumbles. Painting and drawing. Hearty, home cooked meals and tasty takeaway. A couple of unsettled nights thrown in for good measure and a sick little Angus, right at the tail end, which just about broke my heart. Then a day of mooching about indoors, PJ's on, keeping warm and dry as the wild weather howled in the outside world. No backyard fireworks display for my little boys, but one day when they're old enough, I look forward to sharing the tales of cracker night from my childhood with them. And making our own family traditions for the Queen's birthday long weekend. 

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