Maybe it was when I began smelling manure instead of candied apples. Or when the filth of the tilt-a-whirl distracted me from the fun of both tilting and whirling. Or when I realized that a pretzel had 600 calories. (Really? A pretzel?)
Gradually, the fair has lost the allure it had when I was a grade schooler. Now, when I see the merry-go-round, I see germs, not ponies. When I see the Ferris wheel, I no longer see glittering lights. I see an under-stimulated teenager who is paid $10 an hour to check seat belts. And yet, I go every year. And every year I ask myself, “Bailey, what is it about this disease- ridden, barnyard, trans-fat fest that keeps you coming back?”
My sister Annah and I are 15 months apart. We have been best friends ever since she made her debut into the world, so when I left for college the transition was difficult. But a year later, we’re still best friends with loads to talk about. This summer, it was Annah’s turn to experience moving away from home. A week before she left for California, we decided to have one last summer visit to the fair.
It was going to close in 30 minutes, so we figured we would grab a snow cone and get out of dodge. But we both agreed as we searched for our favorite snow cone
We walked by the manure-smelling cow barn, said “hi” to our high-school buddy working the carousel, and altered our walking path when we stumbled across two love-stricken locals making out behind the ticket booth.
Eventually, we found the abandoned grandstands in front of the hypnotist stage and, as the fair shut down around us, caught up on each other’s lives.
Annah told me about her lifeguard summer fling and her fears of going to Los Angeles. I told her about the crazy campers I counseled over the summer and my fears of going back to a life of endless work. We continued to talk and reminisce until our melted snow cones encouraged us to go home.
I still don’t know why I like the fair. Maybe it’s an odd sort of fun to see the beauty in rusted aluminum and littered popcorn bags. The fair may have lost its glamour, but it has not managed to lose its appeal. Maybe that’s because of the snow cones. Or because I always go with my sister. Either way, there is something almost charming about the junky sparkle of the county fair that I know will draw me in next summer.
bpritchett@hillsdale.edu