I love the fair! I love everything about it. I love the heat, the smell, the noise, and the colors. I love the diversity of people that go to the fair. I love the variety of fried food. Who was the genius behind deep-frying an Oreo? Did one accidentally plop into a vat of funnel cake and voila…a new dessert is born? Don’t you wish the essence of the fair could be bottled so in the throes of winter you could get a blast of fried onions, exhaust fumes, sweat and cotton candy? The perfume would also need a smidge of expectation and exhilaration, with an underlying hint of exhaustion.

     For me, the end of the fair marks the end of summer. It means gearing up for hunting or ski season, with the whirlwind of the holidays barreling down fast. I love the fair so much I actually use a vacation day from work to go so I can revel in my favorite event of the year at a leisurely pace. It also makes my adventure a little more illicit that way, sneaking off on a work day to eat corn dogs is heaven.

     Where else can you see the Amazing Spider Girl for fifty cents or watch an old lady with a bald spot the size of a saucer boogie down at the karaoke booth? Where else can you watch a kid show his first calf and feel his anticipation or watch the ride tender literally hose vomit out of the Texas Tornado for the second time in one day? Everything is bigger and brighter at the fair and usually served up on a stick, because who doesn’t love food on a stick?

     I wonder if there is a design school of technology for the creators of all the rides? Their garish colors propelling riders in all directions, born into the sky on a crest of heart pumping music with names like “The Himalaya” and “The Heartbreaker” are engineering phenomena. It takes a pretty smart cookie to figure out the inner workings. Not only does the ride actually have to work, it has to be fun too, with a minimum of hazard. My tastes are simple when it comes to the rides: the Ferris wheel or the log ride or the slide. Between the fear of decapitation or amputation of limbs and a heightened inner ear problem, I tend to remain a little more grounded that most fair lovers but I love to watch them spinning and spiraling overhead.

      I walk thru the show barns and dream of being the world’s oldest barrel racer, watch the cows being curried and look at each and every entry in the creative arts building. I compete every year in canning and sewing and have even won a ribbon or two. I first started entering about 5 years ago because it was such a strange thing for someone like me to do. Never in my wildest notions of myself, would I have ever considered the label of blue ribbon winner applied to describe me.