The Sarah Kendzior Newsletter
January 2, 2024
In the bootheel of Missouri a bald eagle gazes out at a packed parking lot from a storefront painted like a giant American flag. The eagle is faded and frozen, forever free from flight or fight. “God Bless America”, it says, but this phrase is an afterthought. The real invitation is bold-face and blood-red.
“WELCOME TO BOOMLAND.”
We walk through the doors to our sanctuary.
Boomland is an experience, not a destination. Technically, it is a fireworks emporium, but it is so much more. I like to go to Boomland before the Fourth of July and watch my countrymen load up on Patriot Sticks and explosives with names like “America’s Elite”.
As someone who routinely suppresses an urge to blow up America’s Elite, I have always understood the appeal of Boomland.
Boomland is a popular stop for anyone driving between St. Louis and New Orleans with an excess of cash and a deficit of discernment. Lately it has branched out beyond fireworks to challenge its Missouri road trip rivals, Ozarkland and the Uranus Fudge Factory, with acres of Americana.
There is nothing one cannot buy, or should buy, at Boomland. As a result, I own many items dedicated primarily to the greatness of Boomland.
I have a Boomland hat and a Boomland magnet and a Boomland keychain and a Boomland mug decorated with a firework-filled sky and an American flag bracketed by IN GOD WE TRUST and UNITED WE STAND. The bottom of the mug has another familiar phrase: MADE IN CHINA.