I took Patrick to a county fair last week.
I really was certain I wasn’t a fan of fairs. The last one I went to, to drop Abbey off for a dance show, scared the be-jibbers out of me.
I came to the conclusion that the only thing a fair could possibly do for me is make me lose all hope for the future of humanity.
Until I went to a REAL fair. Not a fake carnival-like cess pool of degradation, trying to pass off as a fair.
A small, mid-west, 4-H based county fair out in the country. WAY out in the country.
Like my sister-in-law promised, it was right out of Charlotte’s Web.
Lots of fancy chickens but I liked the plain old ordinary the best:
I think she had PMS. Because I’ve seen that look in my own eyes before. “WHAT could you possibly WANT now?” I respectfully backed away.
Would you call this pear-shaped?
The queen basking in the limelight.
It was hard to not let this little lady out of her cage. She really really begged me. What could I do?
Bunnies. My favorite.
We got stuck here for a long, long, LONG time.
Patrick stayed like this everytime we walked into a barn.
We didn’t miss the pigs. They were being auctioned off. Pigs are smart, did you know that? They are also loud. And get really really mad when someone tries to make them do something they don’t want to do. Like walk down a path into an arena to get auctioned off. I have a hunch they were warned about what came after the auctioning-off part.
Here’s a guy (yes, he’s missing an arm) trying to help that kid get his escaped pig back into it’s pen. Patrick and I were sort of freaked out. If that pig was going to come my way, I would have liked to think I would have helped, but really, I’m sure I would have screamed bloody murder and ran like the wind.
Here’s the pig auction.
I only took a picture of this man because I thought he looked so nice. We sat next to another nice farmer while Patrick was eating a hotdog at the Booster’s Tent, and he told me that he had 8 children. 4 boys and 4 girls, but he lost 2 boys to cancer and his wife had passed away also he told me with his eyes glistening. He was 80. He congratulated me twice on my five children, and said, “those were the days” and you could see he missed them. We started to talk about fair food, and he told me that he remembers coming home from school, and it was a lucky day when his mother would be in the kitchen with a huge cast iron frying pan of heated oil (he laughed and said…”actually is was lard”), making fried dough with cinnamon and powdered sugar on it. He said it was the best thing he ever tasted. I love meeting nice people don’t you? I could have talked to him forever.
Isn’t this a beautiful?
And when I decided to call it a day: