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By Traveling Light Columnist: Liz Pond  

POSTED:  June 29, 2026

It is unavoidable that a Fourth of July celebration in Phoenix is unbearably hot, often a scorching 110 degrees of dry oven-like heat reminiscent of watching a fireworks display in a dry sauna. The trailing smoke of the fireworks blends with the hot asphalt and dusty, moisture-deprived earth in a way that you’re not sure if the burning smell is from the torched landscape or the pyrotechnics. Unlike the summer holidays of my youth, which included bonfires on the beach, the last thing you want is to roast marshmallows. My first year in Arizona, I left the marshmallows out of the cooler, and they melted, becoming one with the plastic bag as if I had left them on a stovetop. Like the marshmallows, on the Fourth of July in Arizona, I was  a hot, sticky mess! 

The only cool breeze comes from a steady stream of man-made air conditioning, gallantly charging forth from the car vent. The car has its own hazards in Arizona. One takes great care to place a barrier between the blistering hot seats and any uncovered skin for fear of burns and branding. It is easy to understand why, years ago, I fled the Phoenix furnace, and I started a tradition of visiting my sister over this Fourth of July in cool Colorado.

For more than a decade, this meant inhaling crisp Colorado air while watching holiday parades and lingering on nature’s damp grass to watch fireworks shows. Sometimes we went to large events hauling kids, wagons, food, and blankets. My favorite was the neighborhood celebrations where families gathered all day, kids ran around with a freedom they only had in their own turf under the watchful eye of their village of mamas, papas, aunties, and established community residents. 

After a full day of laughter and perhaps a few sleepy tears from the littlest of the littles, we would gather in the local park to watch the grand fireworks finale in the sky and traipse home, often for games and leftovers. These were simple, beautiful days with red, white, and blue desserts, lots of laughter, and the joy of wearing a sweatshirt in July.

Don’t get me wrong, I love Arizona, our sunsets and pool weather, but on July Fourth, I long for the ocean breeze I grew up with in California. It is the cool nights I miss the most, when you sit outside on a blanket, a slight chill from the Pacific Ocean to take in the fireworks show! As a kid, I didn’t make it to the blanket until all the preshow festivities were finished. We would start with the worms, sometimes called black snakes, which transform from a tiny hard pellet into a slithering creature by expelling a continuous twisting stream of black ash. I remember asking the hows and whys of the snake’s performance, and the answers ranged from magic to a chemical reaction. It was up to me to decide the truth.

My parents were relaxed and never worried about the mess on the sidewalk from the snakes or poppers. The warm-up act was the ground spinners that decorated the streets before the big show. Finally, the rockets burst into the sky to the sound of cheers. I remember the smell of jasmine mixed with the contrasting burning fumes of the fireworks. There was a quiet that followed the explosions, leaving us wanting more.

Sometimes we would watch from the beach, making pillows out of the cool sand. We placed the blanket over the moldable masterpiece, rested our heads, and gazed toward the stars, inhaling the salty ocean air while rockets illuminated the sky. The radio played patriotic music promptly at 9 PM to complement the impressive display. Another year, we lay on a dewy waterfront golf course, to see the stars give way to colorful explosions, trumpeting off barges in the ocean. Each burst seemed to get closer and closer as if we could reach up and catch them.

It makes sense that I loved those Colorado holidays, with the crisp mountain air mimicking the moist ocean breeze of my childhood. Yet, it slowly transformed into much more than the cooler weather. It was the much-needed catch-up with a sister who lived out of state. She was my unfiltered mirror, and I was hers as we navigated relationships, parenting, love, and loss. She knows our shared family history and won’t hold back with her opinions. This time with her became the greatest gift. It also became coveted cousin time for the kids. It was a break from the everyday routine and a chance to reengage with our families and ourselves. It was a beautiful time to be an auntie, creating new memories. There was storytelling and musical performances. Mini plays came to life in the basement, created and performed by the cousins. I cherish the bake-offs and elaborate mystery who-dun-it games. It was far more than the weather; the July Fourth trips created magical moments and a sense of clarity about what was important in life.

And then, about five years ago, this sister of mine blurted out on the way to the airport that they had sold their house and were moving to South Carolina. It was clear she had put off telling me until the last moment. I processed this information as we drove past the Blue Mustang Statue, which signals we are just outside the Denver airport. Did I see the Mustang’s eerie red eyes flash, or was that a reflection from the sun? 

Nicknamed Bluecifer, the statue is a symbol of Colorado’s wild, untamed nature, but it is also wrapped in urban legend and superstition. As the story goes, the mustang is blue because of a mystical stallion that roamed through the San Louis Valley of Colorado. The powerful mustang, with a blue coat, was known for finding water and grass for the herd. Basically, it’s a feel-good story about how he takes care of his family. Of course, this fabled horse also had red eyes and could take flight, fitting for an airport. Some tales are less positive. The blue Mustang is blamed for bringing bad luck to travelers. Urban legend is that his eyes grow brighter right before a flight delay or to summon bad luck. (1)

With Blucifer in the rearview mirror, this felt like really bad luck. It slowly sank in that my sister would be on the other coast with no direct flights. No more easy hour-and-a-half from Phoenix. A different kind of fireworks were at play here. I began to transition through the various stages of grief, shock, and disbelief. She was joking, right? Anger and denial taunted my thoughts. Bargaining teased playfully in my mind. What’s it going to take to get her to change her mind? I knew logically this was not about me. This was their choice to make to best care for their family. I thought about that mystical stallion that had a talent for finding the best spot for his herd. Still, my heart was breaking at the thought of the distance. I experienced situational depression; Perhaps I have a flair for the dramatic, but I actually cried.

Finally, after multiple phone conversations, I started listening to my sister’s words. She reminded me that I could visit her in the Charleston area and that there are a bunch of new things to explore together. I was still wounded. It would be harder to see them, cost more to fly out, and would require more vacation time. I pictured the hot, sticky summers in the South, sinking deeper into a funk, mourning my mountain cool. I thought to myself, maybe I will just stay in my hot, dry Arizona this Fourth of July.

As the date approached, I announced I would keep up the tradition of my Fourth of July visit. I focused on the positive. There would be good family time as the kids were mostly teens and preteens. The house was within walking distance of a bay with a dock for fireworks, which is not so bad, I told myself. My sister was hard-selling me on a trip to the beach. Then she pulled in my daughter with the little nugget that they were actively filming the TV show Outerbanks in her neighborhood community pool area.

As the plane door opened on that Fourth of July trip to Charleston, I felt the hot, muggy air overtake the cabin. It was a wet, oppressive heat with a dank smell that filled my nose as we walked through the jetway to enter the airport. It was the kind of smell you get when things never dry. I had flown from one kind of extreme heat to the other. A new adventure, I told my cranky self as the suffocating heat created beads of sweat that gathered on my temples. I longed to take a breath of fresh mountain air.

Soon enough, the weather took a back seat to the amazing views. We were in my sister’s jeep, driving over gorgeous, towering bridges with the crystal-blue Atlantic Ocean below, on our way to Mount Pleasant. The new house was all decked out for the holiday with half-circle red, white, and blue banners adorning the pristine white balcony that covered the front of their quintessential Southern Home. It was a beautiful house with a porch swing and a view of a lagoon that was home to a baby alligator. Her screened-in back porch rivaled her front porch with magazine-worthy coziness. The entire house had a beach vibe that reminded me of growing up by the ocean. My sister was beaming with joy! Her happiness became my happiness. “Just wait”, she said. “I have a surprise for you”. My worry faded away, and acceptance was finally settling in. Their family was happy here. I could see it on their faces. One of my nieces was surfing, and the other was catching frogs. If they were happy, I was happy. We cooled down at the massive community pool, complete with food trucks, and my sister pointed out all the locations where they filmed Outerbanks scenes to my daughter’s delight.

Later that afternoon, we watched dolphins play in the water by Shem Creek, another popular Outerbanks filming location. My brother-in-law walked us to the dock where my niece was learning to fish. It was a breathtaking view of the glistening water as the last rays of the sun touched the horizon. Birds soared by and dove at the water for a sunset snack.

The next night, we saw not one, but two fireworks shows from the dock. The reflection on the water magnified the beauty and reminded me of childhood holidays at the beach. Memories of California came flooding back with the familiar smell of grassy vegetation, damp earth, a hint of fishy musk mixed with burning charcoal and sulfur. We still had red, white, and blue desserts, and the kids ran independently through the neighborhood. The tradition continued as we still played games and laughed until we cried.

The next day, I sat on the beach with that familiar salty taste on my lips from the sea spray. It was warm, but a cleansing ocean breeze washed over me, taking away any sense of negativity about our new Fourth of July location. There is something about how the long grass grows up to the sand that makes a South Carolina beach special. We explored Folly Beach and Isle of Palms. Eventually, we made it to the less crowded Sullivan Island, an absolutely beautiful place with significance in the Revolutionary War. It was also known as the Ellis Island of the South for enslaved Africans. A historical tour of Sullivan Island is important. Today, it is a charming three-and-a-half-mile barrier island at the mouth of Charleston Harbor with a distinct lack of commercial beachfront development, as you see in most beach towns.

On day three, we drove thirty minutes to Old Town Charleston, taking the historical horse-and- carriage tour and hearing how the porch ceilings of the old homes are painted light blue to keep out the bad spirits. A ghost tour through the oldest parts of the city is a must in the evening. The sweet and sometimes spooky cobblestone streets in the French Quarter and narrow Philadelphia Alley give way to historic homes and famous old dueling grounds. Longitude Lane offers a path that dates back to the 1690’s. Finally, Adgar’s Wharf, South of Broad Street, is where the cobblestones were previously used as reinforcement to keep the water at bay. (2)

A few blocks from the French Quarter is Charleston’s must-see, legendary market. Located under a series of breezeways and arches, this market is where you can escape from the sun and buy handmade crafts from a series of continuous stalls over four city blocks. My favorite thing to do is to watch the women make intricate seagrass baskets. A quality basket can put you back a few hundred dollars. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, they give out seagrass roses for free,especially to children. Pottery, pralines, jewelry, lotions, and soaps are sold at the market. You can also find cooking gadgets to complement the famous Low Country culinary scene. Strolling through the Market Hall with its Greek Revival architecture is a perfect way to experience the event. It is impossible not to find treasures. Downtown Charleston is also home to the most unique and architecturally magnificent Urban Outfitters. This preservation project is housed in the Historic Garden Theater. The fitting rooms are built into the theater’s main stage, and the intricately carved ceiling and grand proscenium arch are fully visible above the retail floor. (3)

Charleston is a romantic place drenched in Southern Hospitality and charm. History is a big part of Charleston. It is wrapped around everything Southern, just like the big white porches embrace the Southern homes. The grand, elegant Antebellum architecture decorated the buildings for 30 years before the war. These are the grand columns, ornate details, and symmetrical fronts that make up Southern homes and buildings. The central hallways and high ceilings are a sight to see.

While in downtown Charleston, we went to the Battery and past the stately Georgian Colonial-style homes on Rainbow Row. We strolled past colorful 18th-century townhouses and stunning waterfront mansions. The vibrant colors reminded me of the proud and colorful 19th-century Victorian Painted Ladies on the Pacific Coast in San Francisco. The homes in Rainbow Row were adorned with brick and stucco, whereas the painted ladies wore redwood siding, but they all seemed bedecked for celebration. In my head, I pictured fancy Southern hats on the triangular tops of the homes on Rainbow Row, all meeting for a ladies' lunch oozing with Southern hospitality and welcoming the painted ladies from the Pacific. Perhaps I felt Charleston was opening her arms and welcoming the Pond sisters from the Pacific.

I have grown to love Charleston with its massive Southern Oaks and their twisting tree limbs draped in Spanish moss. In the heat of the summer, their strong yet weepy look resonates. The vibrant green of South Carolina is the perfect backdrop to our continued family tradition of togetherness for the summer holiday. My sister’s community is almost forest-adjacent, but a stone’s throw from coastal maritime with salt-tolerant beach grass butting up against large oaks and wetland plants. South Carolina is as green as Arizona is red and brown. In South Carolina, you’re surrounded by all the things that can’t grow in Arizona because of our desert climate. The swampy habitat attracts a full ecosystem of life you don’t see in Phoenix.

On the last day of our visit, my sister reminded me of the surprise. After dark, we drove through their Mount Pleasant neighborhood. South Carolina’s Low Country is filled with beautiful, dense vegetation. From the headlights of the car, it’s not uncommon to see twenty deer on a drive through the area. So I thought this was my surprise until they stopped the car in the middle of nowhere and turned off the lights.

It was almost pitch-black with the nearest street light at a distance. My sister pointed to a field about 10 feet away. As my eyes adjusted, I saw little specs of light flickering and zooming with purpose above the plants. Hundreds of little luminescent glowing lights dashed through the air. My daughter said it first. “Fireflys mom! Look at the fireflies!” It was absolutely magical! The song, “Fireflies” by Faith Hill echoed through my head. “They were just fireflies to the untrained eye, but I could always tell.” Mother Nature was delivering us something spectacular! These enchanting creatures weaved back and forth, stitching together the fabric of new family traditions for the Fourth of July. The fireflies seemed to rise from the field, like floating bits of glowing glass.

I am pretty sure it was my niece who mentioned Tianna from The Princess and the Frog and the Cajun Disney song, “Gonna Take You There,” with Ray and his Firefly family. Spontaneously, with all but one of us off-key, we sang this song. For those without kids or grandkids who played the movie over and over, this was the song playing while Tianna was being guided back home. At that moment, it felt like we were also being guided back home.

No matter how old the kids get, they still grab the sparklers. As we celebrate Independence Day this year, we are going into year six of the summer holiday in Charleston. The kids are almost all grown, but there will still be a scavenger hunt or some kind of interactive family game. Those of us from Arizona will most likely chase a few fireflies. We travel to find home because of the people. The place, California, Colorado or South Carolina, can set the stage, but it’s who you are with that makes it a holiday worth remembering.

RESOURCES:

(1) denvergazette.com, "The Real Story behind Denver’s Demonic Horse" by Spenser McKee, February 14, 2019

(2) www.livleycharleston.com, Livley Harleson, August 26, 2021

(3) www.ccpi.com, Charleston County Public Library, "The public life of Charleston Market"

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Liz Pond has spent over 25 years leading sales teams across the globe with American Airlines, combining a successful career in travel with a lifelong passion for exploration. Having visited more than 100 countries, she brings a rare blend of industry expertise, cultural insight, and personal curiosity to everything she does. Today, Liz divides her time between global travel and her role as Director of Air, Car, and Rail for a prominent tour operator, where she focuses on creating thoughtful, seamless travel experiences. A strong advocate for accessibility, Liz believes travel should be inclusive and life-enhancing for everyone. 

Liz earned her undergraduate degree in Sociology and Urban Planning from UCLA, holds a Master’s degree / MFT from the University of Phoenix, and earned a Global Leadership Professional designation through the Wharton School of Management in partnership with the Darden School of Executive Education at the University of Virginia. Outside of her professional work, Liz is deeply committed to advocacy and service. She serves on the Board of Directors for United Cerebral Palsy of Central Arizona, supporting initiatives that empower individuals with disabilities to achieve their full potential.

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