We’ve been camping this past week at the regional fair and just got back tonight, the finale having been mucking out horse stalls and then walking across the night fair in its last hour to buy a butter pecan ice cream cone for my daughter. Crowds of locals strolling in couples young and old, groups of friends, 4-H and FFA veterans, families with kids, old folks. Past the food vendors, livestock barns, strains of Latino music from the field stage, funk from the DJ set up at the crossroads, the Ferris wheel lit up in a succession of colors.
I was marooned without internet all week, but I’d brought along The Dispossessed by Ursula LeGuin and Brave New World by Aldous Huxley, the perfect literature to lend an air of strangeness to my first all week stay at the Fair. There were elements that reminded me of both dystopic stories, of course, but I had my sandals firmly planted in the barn area all week, which to me is the backbone of the Fair, something to be preserved, celebrated, thoughtfully nurtured. Not to let the commercialism of the nomadic vendors or the decadence of setting down big bucks to line up for fifteen minutes for a five minute thrill curated by laughing, leather skinned, toothless ride operators set the tone.
More on this later, and thoughts on the readings, in between getting caught up on household stuff. The cucumbers and squash will have to be dealt with, and places found for the fall crop seedlings.