It was 1939.

Many of you, I’m sure, have watched it. Perhaps numerous times, as have I.

I am referring to the video of the 1939 Tulip Festival, a then-annual event held in Washington, and now shown from time to time on a local cable TV channel.

The Tulip Festival, I was always told, was a big deal. It was a celebration of spring, especially of the good folks of Dutch descent in Terra Ceia whose tulip-growing prowess was well known. What vibrant colors these industrious people, through their flower growing skills, brought to this region.

It was 1939.

The yearly Tulip Festival parade was beyond wonderful. Held in downtown Washington, it featured floats, all designed in a manner touting tulips. They were sponsored by various organizations and businesses.

And the bands. Oh, yes. The bands. All marching smartly, proudly, by the throngs lining Main Street several deep. There were people everywhere.

It was 1939.

Those young people — high school students — in the bands who were such an integral part of the gala occasion are probably mostly all gone today. They have received their final promotion. I hope they’re making celestial music in glory.

It was 1939.

The spectators. Many of them have now completed their journeys as well, one would surmise.

And those lovely young ladies in Dutch attire, such a melding of pulchritude and sparkling life itself. As they walked, promenaded, along the parade route, they were the quintessence of the forward-looking hopefulness of spring itself.

It was 1939.

In just a few short months Germany would invade Poland. In just a few short years many of those who were a part of the Tulip Festival, participant and spectator alike, would be in the uniforms of their country’s military services, or working as civilians in support of the war effort.

It was 1939.

Things were looking up a bit. The Great Depression seemed to be — at least folks so fervently hoped — loosening its debilitating grip on the nation. At least just a little.

It was 1939.

An almost 32-year-old store manager probably stood in front of his main street business, at least for awhile, watching the parade pass by.

A 22-year-old mother may have been at the parade with her February-born, red haired son.

It was 1939.

In Europe the gathering storm approached, one that would spread to almost all parts of the earth.

But for one shining moment in a little town, in a mostly agrarian county in our state, it was a time for celebration. For enjoyment. For appreciation.

It was Tulip Festival time.

It was 1939.