Growing up, we spent all our 4th of Julys at our grandpa's house in Lincoln, Nebraska. He lived right by a lake where he'd take us fishing and make us touch the bait worms. His backyard had a great old-fashioned clothes line and a beautiful garden where the world's most delicious tomatoes and cucumbers grew. He'd use those cucumbers to make us jars and jars of pickles every year. On the 4th, we'd always grill and eat watermelon and then sit back and watch the fireworks go off over that lake as our aunt told us ghost stories.