The 56 men who signed the Declaration of Independence on July 4, 1776, — peering 250 years into the future — might have expected Americans to be worried about taxes, liberty and/or the survival of democracy.
We are, John Adams, we are. Trust me. All valid questions in today’s political climate.
Instead, the nation’s founders would have discovered thousands of north central Ohio residents enjoying Independence Day by asking the same burning question:
“How bad is the humidity?”
On a steamy Saturday celebrating America’s 250th birthday, conversations across Richland, Ashland and Knox counties may sound less like the Second Continental Congress and more like a weather briefing.
The last few days, after all, have put everyone on a heated edge.
“It’s not the heat,” one backyard philosopher may declare today while standing next to a smoking grill. “It’s the dew point.”
One imagines Benjamin Franklin, who famously suggested hanging together to avoid hanging separately, staring in disbelief.
“You crossed an ocean, invented air conditioning, landed on the moon and your greatest concern is whether fireworks begin after the heat index drops below 95?” Franklin may ask.
Thomas Jefferson might have scratched a few new lines into the Declaration.
“We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal… except the guy who claimed this was ‘good golfing weather.'”
Meanwhile, George Washington, who spent winters at Valley Forge wearing wool and summers marching with the Continental Army, would likely have been puzzled by modern complaints.
“You’ve got ice makers, frozen lemonade, swimming pools, ceiling fans, misting tents and battery-powered neck fans,” he might ask. “Why does everyone still look miserable?”
Of course, Ohioans are nothing if not adaptable.
By noon, we had migrated into every available patch of shade. Lawn chairs were strategically positioned beneath maple trees. Children transformed sprinklers into patriotic water parks. Grandparents monitored cloud cover with the seriousness of military commanders.
And everyone wondered if thunderstorms would threaten tonight’s fireworks from Mansfield to Ashland to Mount Vernon.
Every few minutes someone glanced at a smartphone weather app, hoping the forecast had miraculously shaved off three degrees.
It never did.
Yet, despite the sweat-soaked T-shirts and melting desserts, nobody canceled the celebrations around the area.
Flags still waved from front porches. Neighbors gathered around grills producing enough hamburgers and hot dogs to satisfy an invading army.
Fireworks crews prepared for another evening of dazzling displays, while hopeful spectators reminded themselves at least the mosquitoes seemed too exhausted to fly.
Perhaps that’s the lesson the Founding Fathers would appreciate most.
America has changed dramatically in 250 years.
We no longer debate independence from a king. We debate whether to sit in the sun or move our lawn chair six feet into the shade.
We no longer fear British redcoats. We fear forgetting sunscreen.
And instead of asking whether liberty will survive another day, many Ohioans will spend Saturday wondering whether their potato salad would.
The signers probably would have laughed.
After all, the freedom they fought for included the right to complain about the weather — a right north central Ohio residents have exercised with remarkable enthusiasm ever since.
