The Fair

Raw, rainy weather kept the usual crowds from the muddy midway of the local fair yesterday, but I was determined not to skip what's become an end-of-summer tradition. There are plates of steaming polish food to be eaten at damp picnic tables, and a building where prize-winning produce has been thoughtfully arranged under the glare of florescent lights. There are stacks of wire cages confining unusual chickens and ducks and floppy-eared rabbits, the red and blue ribbons affixed to their coops fluttering in the chilly breeze from an open door. Outside on the trampled grass there's a succession of antique tractors in red, blue, and green, and near them a display of steam-powered machinery chugs and spins, sputtering smoke into the clouds while men in plaid shirts and Carharts keep watch, add oil, fetch water, discuss the weather. We survive a few rotations on a beat-up ferris wheel and a stomach-turning spin on the ski-bob before my favorite part of any fair — a narrow petting barn full of animals. Goats, tall and short with wiry hair and smooth horns, oily-fleeced sheep, messy-nosed pigs, an old pony with a tangled mane, and impossibly soft rabbits and llamas beguile me with twitching noses poking out of wooden pens and glistening, inquisitive eyes.

Fair season is in full swing here in the hills, and I hope to visit several more of them in the weeks to come, juggling several cameras, falling in love with other people's farm animals, looking forward to taking you along.