A walk through the streets of Hinsdale, a leafy suburb west of Chicago, found me with a camera in hand snapping photos of gardens and porches — and bunting. It’s such a festive and old-fashioned way to celebrate the Fourth.

It’s not something I see as much of around home, perhaps because it doesn’t lend itself to center-hall colonials or perhaps because proximity to the seat of government has worn our patriotism thin!

Whatever the case, I’ve enjoyed the festoons and the graceful draping of the red, white and blue. And though bunting is in shorter supply today in the city, there are still legions of flags flying, and there will, I’m sure, be ample seasonal excitement here in Chicago. It is, after all, the day for it.

But I have a hunch that when the dust settles it’s the bunting I’ll remember most — the small, personal celebrations of hearth and home.