One of my favorite childhood memories is watching fireworks. Woodstock’s City Park was only about 7 blocks away, but we packed up the station wagon and headed in to park with the rest of the 12,000 residents of the town—4 hours early—to claim our bit of turf with a blanket. The best summers, though, were the ones spent watching the explosions from our rooftop. Now in Bloomington, we’ve taken to a free and worry-free commute to the front yard.