The Sound of Their Freedom
Independence Day morning, my family and I emerged from a motel in the sleepy tip-of-the-Pacific-Northwest town of Port Angeles. The fog was thick and the air was crisp and we were hungry. Despite many businesses being closed for the holiday, we found a coffee house/Crossfit gym that was open and serving classic health-conscious hipster eats like avocado toast, acai bowls, and lattes.
With our drinks and food, we continued west on Highway 101 headed for the Hoh Rainforest in the Olympic National Park. We were midway through a three-day road trip, at last checking this amazing National Park off our list of must-see places.
Our destination for the night was Forks, WA, about 20 miles from the coast. You might know Forks from Twilight fame, the teen vampire book trilogy turned blockbuster movie franchise of the early 2000’s.
The film, it turns out, wasn’t actually filmed in Forks—only places like the high school, hospital, and certain houses were used for exterior shots—however, the town still reveres its map placement with a short driving tour, a Twilight shop, and Bella’s red truck parked at the edge of town.
The town also holds onto something else quite unique in our country: a firm allegiance to our former Dear Leader, Donald Trump.
We arrived in Forks midway through the annual Fourth of July demolition derby, which ended up being an excellent way to spend the holiday afternoon since my sons are car fanatics.
And so there we were, camped out on a grassy hill under the forever dreary skies, surrounded by adults and teens sporting Trump hats and shirts, some of the caps freshly embroidered with 2024 aspirations, and other shirts saying they couldn’t hear you because the sound of their freedom.
Even though the Trump rally vibe was strong and we were certainly out of place being the only face-masked folks in sight, there was a different kind of magic in the air.
For every white Trump disciple family spread out on the grass, there was a local tribal family enjoying the fun, and for every tribal group, there were Mexicans, and same-sex pairs, mixed-race couples, humble aged rednecks, shiny happy granola folk, and grandmas dressed to kill.
It was America in miniature.
After the demolition derby, we ate hot dogs and burritos and drank Capri Suns. That night we drifted off to sleep in another roadside motel trying to do our part to uphold the melting pot legacy of the far American west.
Like the movie Twilight, it was vampires and werewolves and mortals living together. There was no bad blood or other monsters to fear, only the malformed opinions I had created in my head that I, on Independence Day, was better than my fellow Americans.
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Photo by Robson Hatsukami Morgan on Unsplash
