Every year Avondale does their annual luminaries celebration. For years, I have heard about this event, about the hayrides that occur and the crowds of people. I understood that it was a fun time, but I had never participated in it. It seemed like some exclusive, “for the neighbors” type of thing. And also, we had our own dang luminaries that I could drive around and see. What is all that exciting or different between lit up (possibly inflamed) paper bags?
Well, this year, I finally got an official invitation to partake in Avondale’s luminary extravaganza. Actually, I got two official invitations. And somehow, because my grandmother recently moved to the area, I felt compelled to participate.
We parked at my grandma’s house around 5:45 and, armed in hand with wine and cookies, made our way to party numero uno. We walked through the park, the winding trails lined with luminaries. The air felt like a crisp twenty degrees, so it really felt like the holidays and the walk warmed our veins. The luminaries were beautiful. Somehow tea candles and paper bags can turn a street into a serene, angelic sort of place. The appropriate oohs and ahhs were distributed among us.
When we reached the strip of stores and restaurants on St. Johns Avenue, a small trickle of people had already started to form. Horse drawn sleds [carriages] were beginning to roam the streets, looking for warm bodies to fill their seats. There were large black stallions and sweet, little white ponies. We passed the restaurants, the shops, the people on the street waiting for tables, and even a luminary in a wild, smothering flame.
We finally arrived at party number one: the street. A beautiful house sat on the edge of the strip, covered in sparkling white lights and red, velvety ribbons. Adults filtered in and out of the house, between the chili and the cookies and the soups and the cakes. Tables adorned the front yard, while kids played in the street shouting at the slow trickle of people-filled trailers making their way down St. Johns. What I had assumed to be a sort of neighborly affair was shaping up to be quite the event.
We sat at the table, watching as more and more floats began to pass by. Extravagantly lit and decorated with Santas and inflatable Frosty Snowmen, as well as being loaded with chatty children chucking hard candies at targets (us), the floats started to fill the street little by little.
Eventually, we moved on to party number two: the float. I dashed inside, grabbed a quick chicken finger and miniature quiche, poured some hot cider and put on my Santa’s hat. We climbed inside the trailer and laid blankets over the hay and then over our legs before making our way down St. John’s Avenue At first, we were far away from the action. But as we drove, the cold winter air blasting our cheeks, we passed hordes of cars and trucks and trailers whose occupants screamed “Merry Christmas” at us with smiles and waves. Occasionally, a peppermint would fly through the air and (hopefully) land gently in the hay by our feet, avoiding our heads and extremities. The closer we got, the more people and trailers and Christmas lights we saw.
One trailer blasted Christmas Karaoke loudly into the street. Another had rocking chairs and benches filling its space. Some were decked out with lights strung high into the sky and others had taken the seat out of a car and strapped themselves into that.
We laughed as the air chilled our faces and hands. We collected candies that had bounced off our heads and popped them into our mouths. We waved and laughed with the people around us. How had I not done this before? I had known about it for years, but this time, illuminated by the luminaries, I realized that this is something we should all partake in. Just come and stand in the streets, or drive a trailer from the beaches, or hop on board a horse drawn carriage. However you do it, don’t let this very merry Jacksonville experience float on by next year.
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