Growing up in Hartland, the most important question encountered during tranquil summers was commonly asked as June faded into July: Are you going to the Street Dance? The reverence with which people stated this made it sound capitalized, as if it were a rite of passage for any resident. And it is.

Once a year, the normally untroubled streets of downtown Hartland partake in a severe balancing act: holding over one thousand pairs of feet, travelling to see a new band, local food, and old neighbors. The event digests the entire strip; the bank parking lot holds folding chairs and motorcycles lined up like a chrome army, the stage for the band swells across both lanes like a giant white cake, garnished with caution cones and police tape, blocking the street from drivers. The smell of barbeque smoke flirts with grass and perfume, and people shine their glow necklaces and toys like beacons for lost travelers. 

Laughter and shouts of recognition mingle with the rhythm of the drums and guitar, making cover songs better than any radio original. Children weave through the legs of their parents and relatives, faces shimmering with joy and the fresh body paint they used the last of their precious tickets for. People sway and belt lyrics to a classic, hand in hand with strangers that have become new friends. 

As for me? I tap my feet to the music of the community encircling me, a reminder of what it means to live in Waukesha County.