It is Fair time again, a traditional August activity I’ve cherished most of my life, and we celebrate the Centennial of the Northwest Washington Fair this week.  As I worked today preparing our horses’ stalls at the Lynden fairgrounds for moving in our Haflingers tomorrow, I could remember being at this Fair not quite fifty years ago, tagging along with my father as he did his job supervising FFA teachers in the region.   Although he had taken a state job in Olympia with the Department of Agriculture, he was responsible for the Future Farmers of America programs and teaching in Whatcom, Skagit, Island and Snohomish Counties, so made regular visits to all the high schools.   He never missed any of the county fairs as that was the place the FFA students competed, learned, judged and developed their skills and character.  I came along because I loved going anywhere with my dad that had to do with animals, and I absolutely loved the fairs.  The Lynden Fair, in particular, was my favorite because it was one fair that my dad felt safe about my taking off and exploring on my own.     Hanging out in the cow barns was okay, but the fair was a contained microcosm of the wider world, in my view, and I wanted to absorb every bit of it.   There were kitchens with competitive food preparation, table settings and an array of preserves and desserts.   There was the sewing building with girls busy at handwork and modeling their designs.  There were Grange displays artfully designed into intricate maps with positive messages about farming and community.  There were rows and rows of flowers, each bloom more fantastic than the last.  There were huge pumpkins, and perfect ears of corn and collections of kewpie and Barbie dolls.  There were intricate quilts and embroidery and tatting.   I watched children show their poultry and rabbits, learned about all the different breeds of sheep and pigs, and observed what it took to be a gracious winner and loser.

By the time I was eleven, I had the good fortune to win a weanling colt in a radio essay contest and part of the commitment the winner had to make was to join 4H and participate in the Thurston County Fair.  This was a dream come true for a kid who considered sawdust a favored brand of perfume.   I accepted the responsibility of not only training and preparing my horse, but learned how to be a part of a club with shared duties, including getting up at 5 AM to get to the fairgrounds in time for the morning cleaning.

My husband-to-be had no idea what life-long commitment he was making when he agreed to tag along as one of a group of friends I invited to go to the fair together, and after that day spent riding the ferris wheel, talking about our shared farming backgrounds and simply getting to know each other, we were together forever.  I don’t think we’ve missed a fair in thirty years, and for eighteen of those, we have become the exhibitors, watching fair-goers pass by as we dwell long hours in the noisy, smelly, bright and bold community that forms for one week of the year.

It begins again this week,  as we move in, settle our horses, and get back into the early to rise, late to bed routine.   Over the years, our children and their friends have taken the bulk of the responsibility so we pop in and out as we need to.    I’ll breathe deeply of the smell of sawdust, horse sweat, corndogs and curly fries and remember the freedom it represented for an eight year old girl allowed to explore a safe and fascinating world all on her own.  I’m still exploring, seeing with the eyes of an eight year old now housed in a fifty six year old body.

And that’s what brings me back, year after year.