I got stuck in a traffic jam in Haines, which seems to me no small feat in a town with about 400 residents and not a single stoplight.

I attract gridlock much as some people are particularly prone to, say, mosquitoes.

I blame transmissions.

Both of my cars — one of which I was driving in Haines — have manual transmissions.

If you’ve never driven a car equipped with a stick shift, suffice it to say that stop and go traffic exercises more than your patience.

Unlike with an automatic, when you need to use only your right foot to manipulate the accelerator and brake pedals, the addition of the clutch brings your left foot into this dance step.

And because the clutch pedal requires quite a lot more muscle effort to depress than the other two, if the congestion continues for more than five minutes or so you’re apt to feel the strain in your quadriceps and calves.

My experience was, to be sure, probably the only situation in which Haines, in this one respect, resembles Portland or Seattle or some other city with a true rush hour.

(Which is, of course, a terribly misleading term, since no one is able to actually rush during that period.)

It was Independence Day.

The parade that is part of Haines’ annual celebration of our nation’s founding had finished not long before, and the gravel streets east of Highway 30 were clogged.

And not only with spectators traveling home or to the Haines Stampede grounds just south of town.

Some of the parade entries, including a Baker school bus and several tractors, were also awaiting their turn to pull onto Highway 30.

I had not watched the Haines parade in many years.

I accompanied my older daughter, Rheann Weitz, her husband, Jesse, and my two grandsons, Brysen, who’s 7, and Caden, almost 5.

I enjoyed the parade.

It struck me as the epitome of a gathering in a small town.

The weather was sunny but pleasant, in the 70s when the parade started, as summer parades ought to start, at 10 a.m.

(The heatwave that began to smother Northeastern Oregon was still a couple days from making its unwelcome appearance.)

Red, white and blue naturally dominated the decor, in deference to the holiday.

The entries perfectly reflected the agricultural heritage of Haines, and of Baker County. I smelled both fresh horse manure and the exhaust from vintage tractors — the dark green of John Deeres, the rich red of McCormick-Deerings.

Rodeo princesses and queens handled their horses, all the while waving, with the easy competence of riders who first sat a horse before they went to first grade.

A few classic cars rolled past, freshly waxed.

Kids scrambled to grab the chocolate bars and lollipops that skidded across the asphalt.

There were fire trucks and four-wheelers and, this being Shrine all-star football game country, a couple of fezes.

There were even snowballs, which are about as rare in Haines in July as traffic jams.

Anthony Lakes Mountain Resort piled snow, the grainy remnants of winter storms, onto a trailer for its unique float.

This seemed to me appropriate not only because it offered a slushy and refreshing alternative to the usual flurries of parade candy, but also because the backdrop from downtown Haines is the Elkhorn Mountains — including the east face of Rock Creek Butte, highest summit in the range and still streaked with snow.

As the parade neared its end — I could see the flashing lights of a fire truck, a sure sign that the event is culminating — I began to wonder about one participant I had yet to see.

But then I saw him in the distance, on his customary perch atop a fire truck.

Smokey Bear, who turns 80 this year, seems to delight kids almost as much as a Tootsie Roll or little bag of Skittles.

I worried, as I always do when I see Smokey in a summer parade, about dehydration.

Whoever dons that bulky and hirsute suit must be drenched in sweat before the first block has passed.

(Conversely, this is a coveted costume during Christmas parades.)

It was quite a parade for a small town, lasting about 45 minutes.

As the last entry passed the crowd, which I suspected surpassed 1,000, dispersed, some off to barbecues, others to the rodeo, the kids with bags of sweetness to savor as they awaited the day’s colorful conclusion after dusk.

They just had to get out of town first.