A View From Inside the Parade

For the last few years, Bonnie has participated in the Bayport Memorial Day Parade as a member of the Washington County Sheriff's Mounted Patrol. In the past, I've watched the parade from sidewalk with a cup of coffee in my hand, occasionally waving at the floats as they go by. It's a truly Americana affair, in traditional Rockwellian fashion.

Usually, I start by joining Bonnie at the staging area while she's preparing Dundee as he's tied to our trailer. A special Mounted Patrol saddle blanket, saddle bags, and a flag mount are all piled on to his back with the saddle. As part of the uniform, she wears special brown jeans, white Sheriff's department shirt, and a white straw hat. Before they head to line up for the start of the parade, the riders mount their horses and practice some of the maneuvers in the parking lot.

On this Memorial Day, as they were mounting up, it became known that they were going to be one critical member short. What to do? My dear, very clever wife offered, "well, Jan is here, he could substitute, couldn't you dear?"

"Ah, well, ah, yeah, I guess I could since I wasn't planning to do anything special anyway, but I'm not an official Mounted Patrol, so that wouldn't be allowed, would it?" I half hoped.

"Well, if we could find a hat and a jacket, no one would ever know," said the leader of the group. I was surprised, because he's known as a stickler for protocol.

"I've got a hat and extra Patrol coat," my very forthcoming wife said.

In no time at all, I was wearing a coat two sizes too small ("just pull up the sleeves") and a hat three sizes too small ("just balance it on the top of your head"). I looked like Chris Farley dressed up as the boy in The Rifleman television series.

Maneuvers on Main Street - Bonnie & Dundee on the left

But I was glad to go along,  as it would give me a unique perspective I hadn't had before. Hundreds of people line up along the route, which runs right through the middle of town, then left up the hill by the senior living center, and over to the cemetery. We were following the Sheriff's patrol car, which followed the Chevrolet Corvette club, which followed the Civil War cannon. Directly behind us was a full marching band.

I got to watch Bonnie and her troop go through all their motions, and the crowd reactions as they occasionally would line up facing the sidewalk and salute. The kids would be in rapt attention.

But not as rapt as when one of the horses would leave a load of horse-apples behind. Then those kids would hoot and holler, as I jumped out of the John Deere Gator that travels between the horses and the marching band with my shovel, chasing those little apples down the road trying to rustle them into a bucket.

Like I said, they were one critical member short. With my experience at poop scooping, I filled in adequately.