Wave the Flag

I live at the intersection of well-tended and overgrown, near the corner of solidly middle class and paycheck to paycheck. There are a few choice properties and two recent "Sheriff's sale" postings within a couple of blocks of each other. And there is some yard art around too. 

Like ceramic blue birds, a 3 foot tall Jesus statue, a garden gnome laying sideways, "Welcome Friends" on a rectangular piece of slate and flags celebrating OSU, Spring (appliqué plants and sunshine) and Harley Davidson Motorcycles.

Each Memorial Day U.S. flags appear—Old Glory, Stars & Stripes, hooray for the red, white and blue.  

Not just large flags attached to the house, or the occasional flagpole, but one special yard, with about 228 small flags on approximately 16" high sticks stuck into the grass. Neat rows that have been there for at least the three years I’ve lived nearby.  

A pick-up truck is in the driveway most days. It's dented and sports a non-factory specified multi-colored paint job. A man and woman put in the flags in this year, on Saturday. But I didn't stop to ask them why they do it, and what it means. It seems too personal somehow, but also remote. I don’t want to intrude.

I've said hi to them at other times from the sidewalk when walking my hound dog, he wags his tail when we pass.

Maybe next year I'll ask them about the flags. 

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