I remember being in awe of the ladies who rode the elephants at the circus when I was little. They were sooooo glamorous, with their feather hats and sparkly costumes and beautiful smiles. They looked so elegant, perched upon those majestic beast’s necks, waving with one hand while holding to the sequined harness with the other. I so dearly wanted to be them, gracious and gentle and gorgeous.

Some girls want to be Disney princesses, some of us want to be elephant riders. *shrug*

Well, I didn’t get to run off and join the circus, but I still dream about it.

Here’s a print I like, but I need a great big huge one.

So it’s no big surprise that I never miss the fair when it’s in town. There are no elephants, but the excitement is there. And it’s by no stretch of the imagination the greatest show on Earth, but it is certainly every bit as entertaining. And I get PAID to go. Why would I miss it? It’s worth it, just for the food. It only comes once a year, for Pete’s sake. GO. Well, it’s too late now for my fair, but there might still be one happening near you. And if not, remember my words for next year.

I always have a good time. Even the year Johnny and I rode the double Ferris wheel and I was caught somewhere between passing out and throwing up. I was too scared to scream! And he was too, don’t let him tell you otherwise. I have never been so glad to have my feet on the ground.

I have a long history with the fair. As a child, I entered exhibits, from arts and crafts to watermelons and pictures. I showed sheep in the 4-H Wool & Woolies class, and I cheered on my box turtle in the turtle race. They really shouldn’t put an age limit on entrants. I still like to race turtles. And I promise not to cuss. Probably no worse than the dads at t-ball games, anyway. I showed my greyhound in the dog show when I was six years old and won first place. That was also the year I took 1st astride my stick horse, Blackie. I was sporting rhinestones and black velvet for that occasion. Alas, no feathers. I love the caramel apples, the kettle korn, the fried snickers, and the foot long corndogs. I can’t get funnel cake in my mouth fast enough. A few years ago, I was asked to write an article for the book about what the fair meant to me. I delivered, and I was proud, even though the finished product was chock full of misspellings that were not of my handiwork. I have a long history of working the sweltering Co-op booth, which has been inside the barn, outside in a tent rife with mosquitoes, and an 18′ gooseneck trailer piled high with watermelons to be cut and distributed. I have been a baked goods judge and a secretary for the goat show. I have been serenaded by the band at the entrance. I have had a ball.

I told you I’m a celebrity. I’m on the Wall of Fame. This was the Wool and Woolies. I was thankful for my second place, because the ribbon matched my outfit.

The original, in case you didn’t believe me.

 

We’ve got old tractors….

A week ago today found me toting 106 posters and $40 worth of Dollar Tree artificial flowers up and down that steep ramp in the back corner of the big barn. Several people had decorated their booths over the weekend, but you know me-nothing like the last minute!

I had met up with the community service workers (not to be confused with prisoners, they didn’t care for that at ALL) and their overseer in the parking lot, who had taken me for the “boss lady”. Not that I’m not, but I didn’t want to agree with him just because he had a gun. I got him acquainted with Cyndie, the Executive Director, (and my friend, which is why I torment her with her almighty title). She was slightly taken aback that I was traveling with a posse, but then remembered that’s how I roll.

The excitement in the building was palatable. People were hauling in crops and canned goods, macaroni art was being displayed, and the competition of baked treats was underway. Flower arrangements had yet to wilt, and the roosters crowed from their new accommodations. I couldn’t help but smile as I worked (and sweated). The scent of hay was sweet and I remembered all the times we’d check tags on entries, seeing if any of the Hicks tobacco placed, and wondering how it was possible there were entries from people we didn’t know. (I won’t lie, I still feel that way!) I strolled through the quilts with Sherri, and got more than a little nostalgic. “I love the fair,” I said, admiring all the wonderful things people had made with their hands. Things that couldn’t be bought. “Me, too,” she said. And she’d have to, she was the Executive Director for several years herself, a most thankless position.

So those I knew, I spoke to, and those I didn’t, I smiled at. I got to sample a few of the baked goodies after judgment, and sat in the air conditioned office for awhile, catching up with folks I haven’t seen since my Co-op days. There would be plenty of that to come within the week. The fairgrounds were a flurry of activity, even at 4:30 in the afternoon, with rides being assembled and cattle being fed. I felt confident I had done the best I could with my little dirt-inspired booth, and left knowing that the fair would be ready for Sevier County once again come the next afternoon.

I scattered pebbles all over it to make it look authentic.

I have to say I thoroughly enjoyed walking around in the relative peace, being able to peruse each display at my leisure. I looked carefully over all the photographs, admired the crafts, and wished I had entered my aloe plants.

Tuesday was opening day, and I entered through the big gates with my yellow vendor pass with my friend Rhonda.

We made a circuit through the main building first, seeing as how the food trucks weren’t open yet. We watched the unveiling of the Lego courthouse, which was way cooler than it sounds, and I ran into this wonderful man I’ve known for many years. “Are you gonna speak to me, or what?” I asked bluntly, sidling up next to him.

“Honey, I would if I knew who you were.”

“Oh, very funny.” I had lived next to this man for almost two years, and had worked with his wife, and had seen him in and out of the Co-op numerous times. I’d just chatted with them at the funeral home a few months ago. He’s nothing but a big cut-up, and I knew this was his latest idea of a good joke.

“I ain’t kidding!”

I looked in his eyes for the trademark sparkle, then to his daughter-in-law for a wink. She caught me just in time. “He had a stroke, he doesn’t know who you are.”

Well, you could’ve knocked me over with a feather. I felt about as high as a snake’s belly. I’m really excellent at sticking my foot in my mouth, and I had totally forgotten about his episode a month ago. Even after he told me when it was, I still didn’t remember, even though I had prayed for him. It occurred to me late in the evening that his wife had posted about some memory loss, but I had mistakenly thought it had been temporary and he had regained his full memory by now. Crap. I was embarrassed, but more than that, I was saddened. He said his wife had told him he would run into a girl named Amy, and he was to give me the message that she missed me and hoped I was still liking my job. How bizarre that he could remember that, but not me. Everything since 1976 was erased. And he was coping. He seemed to be in his usual jolly spirits, but I tell you, that weighed on me. You just never know where life will find you.

Finally it was food time. I made a beeline straight for the fried Snickers stand, and while that was still fermenting in my gut, I was reaching for some perfection of fried green tomatoes at the Ruritan building. We sat and ate those in the shade and listened to some bluegrass. I spoke to and hugged several of my former customers as they came through the main gate near where we lounged. I popped up to go get my last treat of the evening- a peach snoball- and ran into a few more. Also, one of my supervisors. I had just acquired my snoball and danced over to him. “Is that what those things make you do?” He wanted to know, as his grandbaby pressed her sticky face and fingers to my shin. “And aren’t you supposed to be up there?” he teased, pointing in the direction of our booth. I put my finger over my lips. “Don’t tell my supervisors! I’m avoiding the cattle barn!” Of course, we were both joking. Because even if I was supposed to man the booth, we all know I’d do more helpful socializing-I mean, networking- by walking around than standing up there sweating a river. By the time I made my way back over to Rhonda, she was ready to make a circuit through the fairway. There wasn’t a ton of action, and I was astounded that there was no Ferris wheel this year! Had there been a recent accident with subsequent lawsuit? What a shame. I got a great picture of it last year.

Next came the poultry barn where I was in for a real surprise. Rhonda. Is. Scared. Of. Chickens.

When she made this Earth shattering announcement, I was about halfway through my snoball and nearly dropped the precious thing on the ground (where, let’s face it, I would probably still scrape it up and eat it. Kidding. Not really.) “What do you mean?” I asked, eyes narrowed, waiting on some dramatic story where she was flogged by a blue jay as a small child. Or spurred by a rooster as a young adult. Both of which happened to me, and I’m not afraid of chickens.

“Well, I’m not scared of all of them,” she said timidly, looking around and staying in the middle of the aisle. “Like, I’m not scared of ones that aren’t real…”

I narrowed my eyes farther. Did she mean she wasn’t scared of the ceramic ones people use as decorations in their kitchens? That’s good, or she didn’t need to ever visit my aunt’s house next door.

“Or when they’re fried….”

At this, I cracked up and led us into the cattle barn, land of my people. No bird flu here, but she was eyeing their table of food like it had Mad Cow disease and would inflict her through particles in the air. We saw all the beautiful Angus and Charolais, then we sidled up to Kent for an invigorating chat about the state of affairs and rattlesnakes in the greater Rocky Flats non-metropolitan area. Rhonda really got a kick out of him, as I knew she would.

Feeling like the celebrity I am, we departed and the very kind gentleman from the Rescue Squad stopped traffic so I didn’t have to squeal the tires in Maggie. I did roll my window down and holler my gratitude as Rhonda laughed.

“I probably embarrass you to death, don’t I?” I asked, thinking over my evening’s antics.

“Not at all, sister. Not at all. You’re a hoot and a holler and all the sparkles and sprinkles.”

That’s all I ever wanted. Boring is the worst insult.

The next evening, my friend Beth had the great pleasure of experiencing the fair with me. It wasn’t quite as good as opening night, but we did have our share of fun. First order of business was of course, the funnel cakes. I had opted out of caramel apples since we’re going to the Apple Barn for book club this month, and they have the best ones. So we sat and enjoyed all the powdered sugar goodness. I ran into my cousin and his family as we perused the succulents, and I straightened my booth, amazed that people had actually came through and taken some literature and posters. After this, we made a pass through the Ruritan booth for the smoked bologna that Rhonda had raved about the night before that wasn’t on my agenda and I was too full to eat. She didn’t steer me wrong, and I very nearly ate the thing in three bites. It was a whole lot better than the singin’, I’ll tell you that right now. Bless their hearts. Luckily, Beth isn’t scared of chickens, so we perused the poultry barn at leisure.

 

And then, of course, I had to introduce her to my friends and their cows. But then- then- the funniest thing all evening transpired.

We had finished our twisty taters and were making a loop through the barkers before our final circuit and farewell snoballs. Where we beheld this….girl.

She was working…rather, she had her uniform on. Beth says to me, as I had not spotted her yet, “Would you look at that?”

I looked. She was holding what seemed to be a stack of brown restroom paper towels against her forehead. She was kind of leaning into them. She was holding a can of coke, which must have been empty, for it was tilted plumb sideways. She is completely, 100%, totally still, while the carnival bustles around her.

Beth: “I should have taken her picture.”

ME: “Do it. Do it!!!”

Beth: “Ok. Smile. I’m gonna pretend to be taking your picture.”

Me, striking a pose: “Am I really in it?”

Beth: “Oh yes.” Snaps quickly. “Ok. Let’s look at it.”

We hunch over the screen. It’s as hilarious as we’d hoped.

So we got our snoballs and tried not to puke them up, even though we didn’t ride a thing.

Disappointed that there were no camels. I’ve come to expect exotic creatures at the fair, I’m not really sure why. All I see are exotic people. I mean, really, where in Sevier County do these poeple reside? Kodak? Beth wanted bunnies. I wanted more room in my digestive tract for more yummies, but alas, it was not meant to be.

As we walked back to my car (the new one now covered in a week’s worth of fair dust), Beth remarked, “You haven’t really done the fair until you’ve done it with Amy.” I’ll take that as a compliment any day of the week. I may not be decked out in feathers and rhinestones, just a dress printed with watermelons, but I suppose I’m just as memorable.

Happy fair season, y’all! When you eat something especially delicious, think of me! xoxo

 

Postscript: Y’all just thought my exploits were over. I had to go by and tidy up the booth and replenish  the brochures and whatnot daily. So I’m over there Friday, and leaving, when this Lexus SUV slowly creeps down the lane towards me. I can feel it coming. Some tourist, wanting to know what time the fair opens. And that won’t be good enough, they’ll want to know if it’s worth it, like they can’t see the entirety of it right there. It ain’t no Ohio State Fair, mister. We’re really just a small town inundated with lollygagging Yankees year round.

But I resigned myself to it. They pulled to a stop and rolled down their window, just as I knew they would. “Hello? You work here?” An Oriental woman called.

I hate that question, because technically I don’t….but really I sorta do. And I can always help. Look at the inmates, for instance. I mean, the community service workers that were escorted by the deputy. I helped them! “Ummm…not exactly, but whatcha need?” I asked her.

“Oh nooo….someone order Chinese food.”

“Oh, did they say where?”

“Just the fair.”

I know the Executive Director (she’s going to slay me when she reads this) eats Chinese food, I used to run into her and the former executive director there regularly. “Oh, it’s probably them in the office.” I instruct her where to go and she thanks me and drives off exactly to where I told her, because I watched.

So I’ve got my stuff all loaded and the air conditioner blasting because it’s 102 degrees out there and I slowly glide away, trying not to stir up any more dust than is absolutely necessary. Maggie looks like a pigpen already. Then I see this guy. He’s barefoot, wearing an old raggety shot to hell what-once-was-red t-shirt, plaid shorts that looked like they had survived the best years of the eighties, and was rubbing his shaggy hair into a bigger mess than it already was. He stumbles through the gate at the midway, looking like he just got out of bed.

Here’s my guy, I think. Should I tell him I sent his Chinese food to the office? Is he coherent? Is he a danger?

My empathy leads to me roll down my window. He probably eats fair food every day, give the man a break.

He squints at me.

“Did you, by chance, order Chinese food?”

He lights up. “Yeah!”

“I just sent her to the office.”

He knocks the heel of his hand into his eye socket. “OH man!!!! ….How far’s the office?”

I notice he’s cross eyed. And also barefoot, as I mentioned before. But he’s standing on pavement and no doubt crossed gravel to get where he is now sooooo…and no, my compassion would not lead me to give him a lift. Not in Maggie, anyway. Maybe the tailgate of Patsy. Maybe.

“Oh, it’s just right there. That big building. Just go up the ramp.” I’m pointing, but he’s already turned away. Hmm. Maybe him and the girl from Wednesday night had a party. Too bad I didn’t get a picture of him.

The remainder of the fair passed uneventfully for me, mainly because I didn’t go back over the weekend. The Vols were playing, and then I had a brunch date and supper date with some old friends. Busy busy. And Labor Day, well, I wasn’t about to labor. Beth did send us a video of her friend’s sweet child reading to the goldfish he won at the fair. That kinda made my throat tighten, I loved it so much.

So yesterday I go to tear my booth down and find a surprise. Except it wasn’t really a surprise, because Brandi couldn’t stand to hold it in, plus she was afraid it got destroyed. But I love it <3

So, really, that’s it.

Remember, support your local county fair!