Spirit of '76

There's something magical about the memories that linger from childhood celebrations—especially those wrapped in the red, white, and blue of the Fourth of July. In 1976, as the nation marked its bicentennial, my small town of Ethan, South Dakota came alive for one unforgettable weekend. At just nine years old, I didn't fully grasp the historical significance, but the air of excitement was unmistakable as relatives traveled from far and wide to join us. My cousins and I darted from one even to the next, swept up in the joy and energy of the festivities. Though the details have faded over time, a deep sense of warmth and togetherness remains, and every Independence Day, I find myself transported back to that special weekend—a celebration not just of our nation's history, but of family, community, and childhood wonder.

The weekend’s events kicked off with a spirited parade that embodied Ethan’s neighborly character. At dawn, both residents and visitors filled Main Street, cheering and waving tiny flags as the high school band filled the air with patriotic tunes. Gleaming antique tractors and polished vintage cars rolled down the street, their drivers tossing sweet treats to us children as we lined up eagerly at the edges. Local clubs appeared in coordinated shirts atop floats festooned with vivid decorations, and the Ethan Trail Riders paraded their ribbon-adorned horses past the crowd. Towering farm machinery, honoring the town’s farming heritage, brought up the rear. While the parade celebrated the nation’s 200-year milestone, it also reunited old acquaintances, filled the street with laughter and applause, and demonstrated the enduring unity at the heart of Ethan’s identity.

What I enjoyed the most during the celebration was seeing both locals and visitors come together on Main Street for a day brimming with joy, spirited contests, and a strong sense of community. The main attraction was the thrilling firehose showdown: teams of volunteer firefighters worked together to blast a barrel hanging high above us with streams of water, all while trying to move it to the other side’s goal. The challenge left both participants and enthusiastic spectators drenched and laughing. Later, we children—joined by a few courageous adults—lined up for the traditional sack races, bounding toward the finish line with laughter and excitement, sometimes stumbling into the cool grass. All around, carnival booths tempted people with games like ring toss and pie eating, and food stalls filled the air with the irresistible smell of kettle corn and cotton candy, enhancing the festive mood.

While the parade, home-cooked food, and general merriment brought everyone together along Main Street, another memorable moment played out at the town’s baseball field, where Ethan’s team went head-to-head with their long-standing foes from Parkston. The stands were lively with fans waving the team’s colors and soaking up the warm sun as they cheered on the athletes. The aroma of popcorn mingled with the scent of freshly mowed grass while players battled it out in a spirit of friendly rivalry. Each remarkable play—whether a hit, catch, or run—was met with enthusiastic cheers, especially from us youngsters watching in awe and picturing ourselves out on the field one day. Ultimately, the outcome mattered little compared to the enjoyment had by all. The day ended with everyone feeling a renewed appreciation for their heritage, grateful for lasting customs, and eager for the next time neighbors would unite to celebrate.

Saturday evening before the street dance, Ethan hosted the eagerly awaited beauty pageant. That event remains vivid in my mind, not just because it was the bicentennial, but because it marked the year my sister Pam won the title of Miss Ethan. Main Street was overflowing with people from throughout the area, everyone’s faces alight with happiness and anticipation, though all of my attention was focused solely on Pam. She stood atop a small platform in her stunning dress, looking absolutely refined, her radiant smile illuminating the balmy summer night. To me, she embodied beauty and elegance, standing out as the undisputed highlight of the celebration. Years later, whenever I come across photographs from that evening, I feel a familiar pride in being Pam’s sibling and recall how her victory made the bicentennial stand apart from every other Fourth of July, both before and after.

As soon as the winners received their final sashes and Pam’s brown curls were adorned with her crown, the festivities moved onto Main Street. The gathering grew, families, contestants, and neighbors mingling under lines of red, white, and blue lights crisscrossing above us. Local musicians took their places on a temporary stage, and as the first notes began, lively music filled the air, echoing off the towering metal grain bins that stood like silent sentinels at the edge of town. My cousins and I darted between adults, hands sticky with lemonade, while laughter and the shuffle of dancing feet wove together in a joyful chorus. The music seemed to draw everyone together, both young and old, transforming the bicentennial dance into something more like a big family gathering than a typical street festival. With the band playing, the whole community seemed to move as one beneath the glittering rural sky.

Once the night deepened and the band eased into a final, slow melody, my parents called my siblings and me together to start making our way home. With Main Street fading behind us, the strings of lights gave way to the peaceful twinkle of stars above the open prairie. While we passed through the quiet town, signs of the day lingered—confetti abandoned in roadside ditches, laughter faintly drifting on the warm air, Pam’s jeweled crown glinting in her hand as she walked at my side. In that still, satisfied moment, everything felt right to my younger self.

That bicentennial weekend would be remembered for many years—in the stories we told over family meals, in old newspaper clippings pressed between scrapbook pages, but especially in the hearts of everyone who’d been part of it. More than just commemorating the nation’s 200th birthday, it marked a celebration of Ethan itself—a testament that even in a small town, community, traditions, and camaraderie could glow as brilliantly as fireworks. Walking home under those summer stars, I understood that no matter what the future held, that extraordinary weekend would always belong to us—a treasured piece of our hometown’s proud and enduring story.