1 fried eggroll (on a stick). 1 deep fried Twinkie (on a stick). 1 polish sausage (slathered in grilled onions but not on a stick). 1 mountain of cherry flavored shave ice. 1 fresh squeezed strawberry lemonade. 1 bbq pork sandwich. 1 $5.50 beer in a small plastic cup. 3 pieces of free Eclipse gum. I feel like I consumed even more than the above listed items due to the hour I spent milling about investigating the homemade cookies, fudge, bundt cakes, cheesecakes, fresh fruit pies, canned preserves and marzipanish items behind glass cases. Phew, what a Saturday. I can’t believe I didn’t develop diabetes. Let’s just say I drank about a gallon of water yesterday and that was about all my poor stomach could handle.

Fairs and festivals and rodeos and carnivals are amazing to me because they’ve managed to maintain the same cast of characters, varieties of foods, crafts, exhibits, lighting, and rides over many decades with minimal changes. They’re the few places I’ve been able to go to since childhood where I know the sights, smells and noises will be familiar and consistent. They haven’t become clean or sleek or silver with rounded edges or technologically advanced. They smell like sawdust and sweat and grilled chaos. They’re covered in red, white and blue bunting and exude Americana. They’re some of the most beautiful sights you can see at night. They make me feel as if time has stopped. Rooms full of old fashioned hobbies exhibited under dingy glass cases, fruit pies with colored ribbons hanging from them, goats bleating and roosters crowing, Tilt-A-Whirls and Ferris Wheels, it’s all so comforting to me somehow.

Check out these classic photos ^[1]from Life magazine of state fairs in the 1950’s if you’re in the mood to be sappy about it all like I am.