07/04/2025
The County
Fourth of July : Here’s a little truth:
Stand in the middle of Los Olivos.
At any point you’ll spot at least five American flags.
No holiday required.
They’re nailed to porches, bolted to storefronts, hanging limp on tired poles,
even stitched into the heart of a faded ballcap resting on the dash of a ’78 Ford.
They don’t scream. They don’t wave for attention.
They just exist.
Year-round.
Like the people here.
Still standing.
Still believing.
This place—this whole damn valley—
it’s stitched together by folks who believe in the idea of America.
Not the version you argue about online.
The quiet one.
The one made of fence posts and folding chairs,
church bells, casseroles, and coffee in the morning.
Real people.
People who think we’re only inches from perfection.
And we’ll never get there—
God knows that.
But we still lean forward,
a little broken,
a little better than yesterday.
We’re not chasing some magazine cover dream—
we’re living in the utopia someone whispered about 30 years ago,
while they were breaking their back to build it.
No, it ain’t perfect.
It never will be.
It’s run by people—
and people?
They’ll break your heart.
But they’ll also help you push your truck when it dies in the middle of the road.
They’ll show up when your barn catches fire.
They’ll mow your lawn when you’re laid up.
That’s the country I believe in.
A little beat up.
A little dusty.
Still trying.
We move the ball one yard at a time,
in a big cloud of dust.
No glory.
Just guts.
Because the ideal still matters.
And the real work?
It happens between the holidays.
In the space between “we the people” and “love your neighbor as yourself.”
That’s what this flag means to me.
Happy Fourth
