This is part 2 of my description of our weekend with the pyros.  Be sure to read part 1 below.

Our Crackerjacks outing had a scheduled "finale" -- as soon as it got dark enough, they would start the Class C competition. Following that would be a tribute to a member that had died (of natural causes), then there would be a large professional shoot (produced by Little Big Shots), and finally, we'd move to the Experimental range to see all the four-inch shells that had been built during the day's seminars.

We hung with our new buddies near the manufacturing tent as we waited for things to get under way.  Throughout the day we had been watching the professional guys set up their hundreds of mortars and wire them.  The numbers of mortars had multiplied and they were still busy at work.  This was going to be one big show.

As we waited we heard about an addition to the schedule - the member from Little Big Shots had brought 800 pounds of stars (the balls that go inside the shells and produce the bursts of color) that he wanted to destroy.  Turns out they had gotten damp at some point, plus he didn't like how they had turned out, so better to blow them up than to store them somewhere. (It's one thing to make or buy fireworks, it's another thing entirely to store them properly and legally).  The easiest way to get rid of these stars would be to set them in the back of the field, wire them, and use an electric ignition to get them lit.  Oh boy, this is going to be one big blast of color!  We waited excitedly for this event.

First, though, was the Class C competition.  We'd been watching and hearing and smelling Class C fireworks for two whole days, but not like this.  The competition is for the younger people and beginning fireworks fans to try their skills at building a fireworks show.  They are allowed to use whatever fireworks they want (as long as they are Class C), but everything must fit onto a 4 x 8 foot piece of plywood, and all be lit by one fuse.  So essentially they pick types and colors of fireworks, plan a choreography, attach everything to the board, and fuse it together.  Sounds kind of like building a Rube Goldberg sort of contraption, doesn't it?  Cool!

There were four entrants in the competition, and all the entries were magnificent.  It's truly amazing what they are able to do with Class C fireworks these days - with such small amounts of explosive, and in relatively small amounts of space.  Beautiful stuff, really.  I was very pleasantly surprised.

During the competition, we were nervously watching an approaching storm system.  It was supposed to be travelling north, which would mean it would pass us by, but it seemed to be growing and spreading, definitely getting closer.  We fetched our raincoats and returned to our spot.

Then it was time for the tribute. They fired twenty-one salutes.  Salutes are essentially just big bangs - explosive, loud, and very bright.  Very dramatic.  Then were the tribute shells.  Several of the shells were Chinese made 10 inchers, and they were lovely.  But the last was the 10 inch shell we had seen Bill making earlier in the day.  It was gorgeous -- The initial red chrysanthemum shell was followed by a secondary, internal shell of green. It worked flawlessly.

Then it was time for the ignition of the stars.  They had wired the stars pile, and brought the wires up close to where we were sitting, and they quickly hooked it up to the detonator.  Then they pushed the button.  Nothing happened.  Crap.  At that moment, four fountains burst into life not far from us, and then we heard a gigantic salute.  Crap is right!  The professional shoot was starting, and we were right next to it.  We grabbed our chairs and hoofed it over to the pavilion for a better (and safer) view.

There were a lot of shells, and salutes, and fountains, and you name it going off.  Really amazing stuff.  I felt the first few drops of rain, and looked at Martin.  We scrambed into our raincoats, but chose to keep our seats in the rain rather than go under the pavilion and lose our view. Sure, it was raining, but the show was still on!  Soon, though, the heavens opened up fully, and the rain came down in torrents, and the wind blew like a hurricane. We backed up towards the pavilion so it could serve as a wind block. Still the fireworks continued, and in fact accelerated.  In the flashes of light from the shells and the lightning, we could see the guys from Little Big Shots calmly walking amongst the mortars, igniting many by hand. 

This barrage of fireworks was punctuated by a huge explosion - a big "boom" and a rising mushroom cloud of smoke, lit from within by greens and blues and reds -- the stars had finally lit!  We cheered, and hooted with laughter.  The sky continued to be lit with a multitude of big fireworks from the main show.

I'll just sum up by saying this was the most intense fireworks show I've ever seen.  The drama of the storm helped, of course, but it turns out the man at the electronic control board had seriously sped up the show -- he was firing 10 shells at a time to try and finish faster!  Even so, it was at least fifteen minutes of constant firing.  When the shooters made it back to the pavilion, they were completely soaked.  We gave them a well-deserved round of applause.

The rain continued.  During a lag, a few more big shells were fired by Little Big Shots - they were already in the mortars, and had been covered, so they wanted to set them off.  We were happy to watch.  But in the end, we were unable to watch our own little four inch shells be launched.  I'll never know if mine was assembled well enough to actually work, though I was told odds were that it was just fine -- after all, I was given good instruction.

Anyway, we drove back to DC in the pouring rain.  I told Martin that I was "much less bored than I had expected to be".  He thought that was just great, and proceeded to ask if I wanted to go to the July and October shoots.  Man, I cannot even think about that yet.  I'm still seeing spots and my ears are ringing.  But somehow, I think I'm going to have some fond memories of this weekend, and I'll probably get talked into going again.

Some people knit in their spare time. Some garden.  My husband builds fireworks.

I suppose that's not *exactly* true - mostly he researches formulae and methods. He only gets to actually build them once a year when he takes his chemicals and materials to West Virginia for July Fourth weekend.  I think, though, that things are about to change.

We just returned from our first "shoot" with Crackerjacks, a regional fireworks club.  Martin finally joined, after years of talking about it, and we trekked off to middle Virginia with our camping gear to see what it is really all about.  I'll tell you what it's about - it's about lots and lots and lots of fireworks, and setting them off as often as possible.

First off I will say that they are very invested in safety and safe practice.  The grounds of the shoot, which they have been using for the last thirty years, have defined areas for the different activities, restrictions on where you can do what, and safety requirements.  Enforcement at the areas varies, but those in charge are continuing to work to nail down policies and get people to follow them.  For the most part, they do a good job.

Upon arrival we headed to the main pavilion to get signed in, and to retrieve our badges.  We were here as guests of the group's President, since Martin's membership application had yet to be processed.  Still, we were allowed to wear "New Member" badges. We were required to wear these badges constantly.  When meeting new people, it was handy to read their badges -- for example "Bob, PGI Certified, Board Member".  Lots of the attendees were certified by Pyrotechnics Guild International.

The large area closest to the Pavilion was the first to grab our attention, less because of its proximity than because of the noise.  This was the "Class C" open shooting range.  People used this range alllllll day.  If you think you love fireworks, this area will put you to the test.  Class C fireworks are the kind you can buy at fireworks stands.  They are consumer class fireworks.  Evidently, this classification system is obsolete (they are now called 1.4 G fireworks), but Class C is how most people still refer to them.

Many 1.4 G vendors were here at the shoot, with plenty of wares on hand.  Evidently a typical MO would be a Class C afficionado buying individual fireworks from the vendors, going to the range to fire them off, and then returning to the vendors to purchases cases of their favorites.  I didn't ask what they intended to do with these cases - let's assume they were all going to use all of them for the Fourth of July.  All I know is that the same people kept returning to the range and firing off more of these fireworks.  During the daytime.  When you can't really see them.  Whatever.

On the other side of that same field was the manufacturing tent.  This is where you would go to assemble your own fireworks.  This was a restricted area - no children, safety glasses required, etc.  This is where the risky business of combining volatile chemicals took place, and so, of course, this is where we spent most of our time. 

Not too far from the manufacturing tent was the "Experimental" shooting range.  All homemade fireworks were fired here (with a few exceptions which I'll mention later). This was a low area in the field, with mortars sunk into the ground behind a vertical sheet of plywood.  Shooters would place their contraptions into the proper mortar, light it, and step around the plywood and back off as the fuse burned down.  There was a wide range of sizes and types of fireworks going off at the Experimental range.

After our initial tour of the area, we picked out a tent site and got the tent set up.  Martin went off to check things out while I puttered and read my book. It wasn't too long before he returned to fetch his camera, saying "this guy has the most beautiful rockets I've ever seen".   Later, he returned to fetch me so I could go meet said rocket guy.  We went and met a large group of people that had driven down from New Hampshire and Massachusetts.  The "Rocket Man", Tom, and his friends were extraordinarily friendly, and seemed to accept Martin with pleasure.

It didn't take us long to figure out that the Class C afficionados and the fireworks builders were nearly two separate clubs.  We were quickly folded into the madcap group that made up those who made their own fireworks.  I guess it didn't take long for them to figure out that Martin was one of them, and then I was accepted by association.

As night fell the launching of the Class Cs ramped up quickly.  But the feature of the night was to be the "beautiful rockets" built by Tom and two other rocket men. Even as the Class C range continued to pump out color, smoke, and noise, the rockets began going off downfield.  They truly were beautiful -- one of the difficult parts of making rockets is getting the motors to work well and consistently. These drive the rocket into the air, and then when they reach apex, the bursts will (hopefully) ignite and release whatever is packed away inside.  All of the rockets had fabulous motors -- consistent height, great burn with comet-like tails, and all seemed to explode at apex.  They released a variety of charges.  Tom's often had rings of color, and several had timed bangs that went off in sequence, creating circular rings. He also tended to add a "bottom burst" to his rockets, which was a final punctuation of bang and stars at the end.   Impressive, indeed!

Then we moved to the Experimental range. I wasn't sure what quality of stuff I would see here, even though I had just seen some very fine homemade rockets.  At the experimental range they set off about 10 shells, which are launched from the buried mortars (as opposed to being launched by rockets).  These ranged from 4 to 8 inch diameter shells, which I believe would be easily classifed as "Class B", or display fireworks (consumer-class fireworks are limited to 50mg of explosive material).  Shall I just say that these shells were truly impressive. Huge. The sound of these shells coming out of the mortars alone is impressive -- a deep "Thoomph", several seconds of silence while you watch the shell ascend, and then gigantic booms with bursts of beautiful color.  Wow.  Martin was as giddy as a schoolgirl.

The next day would be a full day of fireworks. We started at 9 with a pancake breakfast, and Martin headed off to watch and learn while I went back to the tent to read and relax. Close to noon I went and found him at the manufacturing tent.  He talked me into joining the "Build Your Own Shell" seminar, and so we both assembled some 4-inch shells, using pre-made stars.  The manufacturing tent is an interesting place.  Not too far a way a man named Bill was assembling a 10-inch shell.  We stared at it with wide eyes. This was a monster.  We talked in hushed tones about the amount of lift charge it would take to get that thing going.  Our four inch shells were going to need 1.5 grams of black powder......

Anyway, it takes a few hours to build a shell, because after you get the "color" materials and the burst charge inside, you close the shell and wrap it.  One of the Crackerjacks had built a nifty taping machine -- you stick your shell on the device, tell the computer the final diameter you need, and it rolls and rotates the shell while taping it to the exact specification.  Much faster than hand wrapping!  Then the shells need to go into the drying box for at least an hour to remove any moisture.

We talked to a lot of people during these hours, and met even more. One notable character was Pete.  I had noticed Pete right away because he was missing most of his left hand.  When you know anything about fireworks, and you see missing fingers, you pretty much assume an explosives accident.  I wanted to know what happened to him, but felt it inappropriate to ask.  Anyway, we talked to Pete several times, and it turns out he and Martin have a LOT in common -- both are very smart, both have worked in electronics and computers, both know alot about chemistry, and both are (obviously) interested in fireworks.  I found this close similarity disturbing as I kept catching sight of Pete's mangled hand.

Later in the day we had caught up with Pete again, and at one point while Martin was on a short errand, I began to raise (subtly) some of my concerns about Martin's safety.  Pete jumped into the topic with little encouragement, and began to detail exactly how he and his manufacturing partner minimized their risks.  I said "Well, it certainly sounds as if you are extremely careful".  Pete paused noticeably, and said "Well, I am very careful, because once, I was not."  Martin had walked up at that moment, and Pete told us what had happened to him.  Turns out it wasn't fireworks that blew off his hand - it was a very dangerous high explosive. He was cagey about why he was working with it, but acknowledged that he had become complacent with it, and not followed practices that he knew even then that he should be following.  Anyway, the story is somewhat predictable, but what really struck me was (a) that Pete still worked with explosives, but was extremely cautious and regimented in his handling, and (b) he quite obviously chose to tell us his story because he really liked Martin, and wanted to impress upon him the need to be safe.  I was very grateful for that.  Thank you, Pete!

I'll make the last part of our Crackerjacks shoot a separate entry, just because this one's already too long, and there's sooo much more to tell.

Spring in DC – flowers and trees are blooming, squirrels are digging up gardens looking for their well-hidden nuts. And, the birds are nesting, raising their yearly crop of chicks.

For several years now, we have had a mourning dove build a nest on our front porch.  She somehow found a nook on the top of one of the square porch columns. There’s very little room there, but every spring she brings new twigs to try and build up the refuse from last year’s nest.  It’s painful to watch, because most of these twigs fall to the porch.  There’s just not enough room.

Eventually, she gets enough twigs to stay, and she lays her eggs.  Usually, one or more of the eggs fall to the porch.  They break, and leave a small mess that the ants race to clean up.  A little bit of death, and loss of potential, right there are on our doorstep.  But Mother dove stayed on the nest, day in and day out, continuing to do her job.  I would tell her to stay still, and not knock those eggs about.

One day I came home and stepped up to find a gruesome sight.  One very small baby bird had fallen to its death.  The ants struggled mightily to do their job, but I couldn’t stand to leave the dead child right there on the porch, within view of its brooding mother.  I scooped up the body and tossed it over the rail, then I looked up at Mother and told her I was sorry.

But why was I apologizing?!  I didn’t pick that location for her nest.  Why didn’t she pick a tree somewhere like a normal bird?  Doesn’t she realize....?  No, I guess she doesn’t.

Still the mother sat.  And sat.  I would leave the house in the morning, and say hello to her, while she sat frozen, trying to be invisible.  I would come home in the afternoon, and she would still be there, watching me with her beady eyes, hoping I would just leave her alone.  I did (mostly).

One day I came outside, and mother dove wasn’t on the nest. But if I craned my neck enough, I could see small feathered creatures in the nest – we had babies!  I didn’t know how many, and I fervently hoped they would stay still and not fall out of the nest.

Mother would come and go frequently at this stage, searching for food.  The babies got bigger.  I could tell now that there were two of them. And they kept getting bigger.  And bigger.  Good thing there were only two! 

When I would enter and leave the house, and look up to the nest, now there were two sets of beady eyes watching me.  The babies seemed less fearful than Mother, or maybe it was just my imagination.  Still, they would sit and watch me as I spoke softly – “Hello babies!  Don’t move too much, or you will fall!”   After a certain point, I never saw Mother in the nest anymore, though  I saw her sitting on the porch rail nearby a few times.  She just didn’t fit up there anymore.  I could hear her cooing from inside the house.

One day I decided I had to have a picture of them, so I went out with Martin’s camera and took a couple of flash photos, hoping that it wouldn’t freak them out too much.  That evening, Martin came in from work and said “there’s only one bird in the nest”.  Oops. Did I scare one into taking that scary leap?

The next day, the nest was empty.  I don’t think their exit was premature by more than a couple of days at most.  It was their time to go.  I think I still hear Mother out front.  Yes, it could be some other dove, but I just bet it’s her.  And I bet too that next year, she will return to her precarious, ill-chosen nesting site, and put us through all of this again.

I’m sitting here with a pall of sadness.  Sort of a low-grade dullness.  Why?  Because I was on a jury that just convicted a man of distributing crack in DC. 

First, let me just say that I believe this man to be guilty of the offense.  But I will also say that I think that there was some shoddy police work involved, and that the government didn’t do a great job of presenting its case.  Did we have any doubts about the two different stories we were given, and the various bits of evidence?  Absolutely. 

The majority of the jurors (7 to start, then 10 toward the end) believed the government had done a sufficient job to convince us.  Five of us (yes, me included) had doubts, and we discussed them for an hour and a half.  Those in the majority asked “What exactly are your doubts?  Is that item of doubt crucial to the case?”,  while those of us in the minority asked “Why doesn’t x create doubt for you?” and “How can you be so sure of y?”

In the end, we all agreed that there were inconsistencies in the testimonies we heard.  We agreed that, ideally, we would have heard more/different testimony, and seen more evidence.  There was reason to doubt the government’s version of events.  BUT, our sticking points were somewhat trivial, AND, we couldn’t come up with any other plausible way that the events could have transpired.  Hence, the government’s version was beyond *reasonable* doubt.

Oh, I should mention that the defense tried to give us another version of events, bringing in a witness who was actually a party to the crime.  In fact, he claimed responsibility for the whole crime.  But his testimony was amazingly weak and inconsistent in itself, above and beyond its contradiction of the other testimonies heard.  I would have to say that in this case, the defense would have been better off sticking with cross-examination of the government’s witnesses, and not bothering to bring this guy up in front of us.  Not a one of us believed him. Good thing we didn’t have the job of judging the strength of the defense’s case.

So in the end we found the defendant guilty.  I wasn’t happy that the case wasn’t cut and dried, but I was comfortable with our verdict.

So why am I sad?  Hard to say.  I think it is just my general reaction to seeing these lives gone “wrong”. I know it’s rather white and bourgeois of me to presume their lives are “wrong”, but I can’t help but see it as a form of waste. Also, as we were leaving the courtroom, one of the other jurors said to me that he (the defendant) “had no-one there”.  I had noticed that too – I didn’t see anyone in the courtroom during any part of the two-day trial that appeared to be there on behalf of the defendant.  He was alone.  No matter how you look at it, that’s sad.

Perhaps it’s a chicken and egg thing:  Was no one there because he was caught up in crime?  Or was he caught up in crime because he had no one?  I’ll never know.  All I know is that these people who regularly commit crimes in society, with whom I’ve had too much contact these past few years, are passing their time trying to dodge various and assorted nails in their coffins (so to speak).  I helped add a nail to this guy’s coffin today.

Not all of you know how insane my husband is.  Here is yet another example.  Our friend Vicky, who is a series producer at National Geographic Television, hooked him up with another series producer who had the bright idea of using Matrix-like footage in his series -- this would be the famous "bullet-time" shots, in which an object is frozen in action while the camera appears to rotate around it.  Vicky said to this guy, if there's a way to make it happen without a kajillion dollars, Martin will know.

Well, Martin did the research, told him it was possible, and how it could be done, whereupon the producer said "if we paid for everything, would you do it?"  Martin, ever in search of new projects and thrilled to find a really cool one that would cost him *nothing*, said sure thing.

The near-final version of this project ended up in our backyard yesterday.  Thirty digital cameras, with customized firmware, custom controller, centralized power supply, download hubs and a PC laptop, saw their first full-scale assembly yesterday.  The damn thing works!  It needs tweaking, and the cameras are a bit randomly unreliable, but for the most part, they all fire simultaneously.  For example, we have thirty photos of Martin suspended in the air, all from slightly different angles.  Then specialized software will be used to fill in the gaps between frames, and we should have a smooth rotation effect around him. That has yet to be done.

The ultimate goal is to set this up in Florida in two weeks, and take photos of a cobra spitting at the show host.  Supposedly Martin is going down to operate the setup, which is a good thing, because despite all the custom scripts and wiring, it remains amazingly complicated.

Yes, I've moved to new blogging software.  This has many more features, plus better security for comments, so I won't have to worry about being inundated with spam comments anymore!  Comment away, friends.

And, I'll try to update it more often, which would truly make it new and improved.