Barbara Lawlor, Peak to Peak.   A woman visiting from the East Coast sat at the end of Nederland’s parade route and nodded her head. “I have never seen anything like that before,” she said.

She spoke of the swell of decorated bicycles ridden by local children, trying to keep moving at a slow speed, They wore red, white and blue and dangled ribbons and waved flags and waved and smiled at the crowd that was stacked up along First Street and Second Street.

Remnants of shiny notes from the Barker Brass Band lingered in the air and plopped on to the dry dirt road.. Emcee Little Foot put his tongue in his cheek and his large foot into his mouth at he described the parade, trying to paint a picture of a town filled with characters and saints, rebels and hooligans, artist, musicians, cooks and hardworking mountain folk, whooping it up on a day for the strong willed and patriotic.

The east coast women said it wasn’t just the bikes and the kids, it was the dogs on tops of cars, in strollers, on motorcycles, half a dozen attached to the same leash and in backpacks, lunch boxes and purses. It was a yak talking to Little Foot, meaningfully.

It was the United States Forest Service brush trucks spraying the crowd as the drove past them.

“More, more,” shrieked the kids. “No, no,” squealed the women with the perfect hair.

The East Coast woman laughed. How could one not laugh during a parade in Nederland? It wasn’t about being cool, precise or politics. Take for example, the small girl pointing from the back of a pickup truck with determination at the tip of her finger, while a cardboard sign read, “Vote Trump Out!”

It would be a long search to find one of those hanging out in the land of clam chowder and lobsters.

The parade made it’s annual sweep through Nederland and then everyone wandered away, in search of lunch, a stroll in the park, or a hike up the mountain.