Doesn’t the name "Porthill" just say it all?

Happy Fourth of July to those south of the border. In high school, Canada Day always meant a rather dull round of fireworks at the community center, while the Fourth of July meant the pub just across the border in Porthill.

There, people bought their drinks inside and then carried them outside, where they could pass them along to any unaccompanied minors who happened to be hanging about. There was dancing, barbecuing, police takedowns of men with concealed weapons, and good old fashioned drunken brawls.

Min just finished telling me that he and his high school friends spent one summer weekend setting off firecrackers in the woodpile under his porch, in an attempt to rid the property of wasps’ nests.

It’s amazing we survived to adulthood, really.

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