The Water Fight

I've been thinking about this a lot lately, mostly because we're heading back to Nantucket at the end of June and I've been mentally walking through what the summer will look like. It's what I like to do. I plan and I anticipate, I make lists no one asked for. And somewhere between checking ferry times and thinking about what to pack, my brain went back to the Fourth of July water fights of the past. The one event that doesn't really exist anymore, and I realized I felt a little sad about it. Maybe it’s because my kids are older and everything has changed but I was also sad that kids these days won’t ever experience it the way mine did.

Pre-Covid, on the Fourth of July at high noon, Main Street Nantucket became a war zone. A joyful, soaking wet, completely chaotic war zone that was one of the best things I have ever witnessed in twenty+ years of coming to this island during the summer.

Two fire trucks. One from each end of Main Street. Hoses out. In between them, every kid on the island who had been awake since sunrise filling water balloons, loading backpacks with water guns, and memorizing the location of the hidden spigots tucked around the corners off Main Street. Because if you knew Nantucket, you knew where the water was. And if you knew where the water was, you were dangerous.

Shop owners locked their doors. Not metaphorically, they physically locked them and did not let anyone in. They knew what was coming, this wasn’t their first rodeo.

Before the chaos started, the fire trucks would unroll a massive American flag across the street. Patriotic voices filled Main Street. Everyone stopped. Someone locally (sometimes nationally) known would step up to kick things off. And then, for approximately fifteen minutes, it was absolutely unhinged in the best possible way.

My boys, Gavin, Henry, and James, had a system. They weren't looking for the kids in swim trunks or dad’s in Cisco Brewery t-shirts. Those people knew, they were prepared. They were looking for the person who had clearly just arrived, dressed for a lovely summer lunch or a daytrip, completely unaware of what was about to happen. It's not hard to spot on Nantucket. Someone always shows up in white linen on the Fourth of July. Every single year.

We got lucky one year and had friends staying at the Residences at the White Elephant, in a stunning downtown loft rental property with a front row view directly above ground zero. It is an insane rental to have on the best day of the year on that island. We watched from above like generals surveying a battlefield, then descended into it. My kids still talk about that one.

The changes to the water fight seemed to happen quickly. The water balloons went first. I understand why, broken plastic finding its way into the harbor and the waterways around the island is a real environmental concern and I'm not arguing with that. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nostalgic for the sight of a thousand water balloons in the air at once over Main Street.

Then gradually, year by year, the town pulled back. Liability. Logistics. The general institutional tendency to look at something people love and decide it needs to be managed more. The last real one I remember the full, unfiltered, fire hose version was the summer before Covid. Gavin was going into eighth grade. It was one for the books.

They still do the blueberry pie eating contest. Two of my kids have won it, which is its own kind of legacy. There's still some water. But it's not the same and everyone who was there for the original version knows it.

Last year the town canceled it entirely, drought conditions on the island made the call for them. The Fire Chief announced it at the end of June. Someone whose opinion I respect, a writer who has been on the island far longer than I have, made the point that maybe the tradition had run its course anyway and that the crowds and the chaos had outgrown what was once a genuine community moment. I understand that argument. The cobblestones get slippery. The crowds are not what they were twenty years ago. Things change.

I want to say it's bittersweet. But that word is overused and doesn't quite cover it anyway. It's more that some things exist fully in a moment and then they're gone, and the right response is just to be glad you were there for them.

We'll be on island from late June through early August. The Fourth of July will be fine. Our traditions have evolved, along with the age and interests of our kids and now the holiday has a newer feel to it. It'll be festive and crowded and the lobster rolls will be delicious, they'll just cost you over $40 now instead of the $16 I paid in 2004, which tells you everything and nothing about how Nantucket has changed.

But you still may find me standing on Main Street at noon thinking about the water fight. I always am.