It was one of those weekends. Hot, sunny, filled with family, friends, pool time, and pizza.
And the fair.
Call me old fashioned, call me unduly influenced by 1960s musicals, but the fair is one of my favourite times of year. Something about the lights of the midway, the smell of corn dogs, the sound of the bands on the stage, the taste of cotton candy and cinnamon rolls brings me back year after year.
To the novice, it might seem like the fair is the same old thing – the rides are all in the exact same spots every year as are the food carts, the vendors in the exhibit halls, the animals – but they’re missing the best part of the fair.
The fair brings out a variety of people not typically seen in our small town. You have the carnies, with their sun baked skin and stories you know are going to be interesting. You have the aggies who are there to show their animals. They walk around in jeans and cowboy boots, not caring that the temperatures are hitting triple digits. You have your families with their strollers and wagons, chasing after children, applying hats and sunblock. You have your woo-girls with their cowboy hats and twelve dollar hard lemonades. You have the “oh my God, did her parents know she wore that outfit in public” teen girls who strut the fair like miniature cautionary tales in their barely there shorts and flimsy tops.
I put the kids on their ride and sit on a bench, watching the people walk by, a running commentary in my head, a bag of half eaten cotton candy in my hand.
Where’s your favourite people watching spot?