I grew up in a small town in rural Iowa, which means I always felt a mixture of excitement and dread when summer rolled around. To my younger self, summer meant long hours on the farm — working with the unruly hogs, or digging up towering growths of stinging nettle, or trying in vain to beat the humid heat that drifted in daily off the surrounding corn fields like fog off the ocean at night.
That’s not to say that the bright sides of summer, those hallowed childhood traditions, were totally absent. After choring, my sister and I were free agents; the library, the pool, and even the shops in the small downtown neighborhood were our frequent, parentless haunts between the months of May and August. Summer reading programs, the County and State Fair, and the inevitable return to school and harvest helped pass the time even faster.
The undisputed best part of summer, though, was the Fourth of July.
The parade started its slow and sonorous way down Main Street early each year. First the service vehicles, the fire engines and police cars and ambulance — their lights and sirens screaming for attention — and then the local celebrities: the mayor, city council, and county supervisors, throwing candy to the throng of onlookers from their line of convertibles. Following behind them were the local business and organizations, the Fraternal Order of Eagles, the Red Hat Society, and the Oddfellows, distributing more sugar to the delighted youth.
After the parade, there’d be a cookout in the small park at the center of town, followed by fireworks. My family, keeping our own small tradition, would sequester ourselves on the side of a small hill once the sun began to set and, eating home-made ice cream, watch the sky erupt in red, white, and blue.
It may be needless to say, but Cincinnati is vastly different from my hometown, where the tallest building comes in at five stories (still much too tall for local comfort). I must admit, I still catch myself gawking upwards like a tourist when I wander through downtown Cincinnati. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the skyline.
But what I will get used to — what I’ve always been used to, what I’m overjoyed to have rediscovered, and what will become a facet of my own traditions to come — is a most unlikely series of 4th of July festivities happening in what may be Cincinnati’s weirdest neighborhood.
Northside has hosted 4th of July events for the past 165 years — discounting a six year hiatus in the 60s, and the summer of 2020 — starting with an annual parade in 1854; only 78 years after the Declaration was signed.
“The parade is such a celebration of all the things that make Northside great,” said Emalene Benson, the Northside Community Council’s Communications Secretary.
“It’s goofy, it’s wacky, it’s wild, and it truly is a celebration of freedom, independence, community, and the enduring spirit of Northside.”
“It’s a chance for most of my neighbors to camp out on the street, get together, and enjoy the sights,” added Northside Community Council Director Nathan Davis
Interestingly, the parade and festival began as a fundraising event for Cincinnati’s Sisters of Charity orphanage, which was located in the neighborhood at the time. The fundraising tradition only ended in 1960, when the orphanage relocated.
This year, the parade will begin at 12 p.m. The route is set to cut mostly straight down Hamilton Avenue for a little over a mile, from Ashtree Drive to Palm Street. Residents of Hamilton are asked to move their cars off the street by 7 a.m. on Saturday July 4 to allow full access for the marchers. Hamilton avenue is then set to close to all traffic at 11:30 a.m.
Following the parade, Northside residents and visitors alike can enjoy a bevy of events, including the 20th annual Northside Rock and Roll Carnival in Hoffner Park, the second annual Northside Hotdog Eating Contest at Northside Tavern, and WordPlay Cincy’s Community Comfort Station at 1556 Chase Avenue.
