During his childhood, my husband loved going to the Shawano County Fair. He and his family enjoyed this special time of year.
The fair was something they were attracted to. The cow barns, the farm exhibits — corn stalks and cobs, soybeans, and samples of alfalfa — resonated with their farm identity.
I, unlike my husband, had no prior fair familiarity. Even though we farmed, growing up we just never attended fairs. As kids, we couldn’t miss what we didn’t experience and never felt slighted. So after marrying my husband, attending the Shawano County Fair was not something I really looked forward to.
As our children grew, we introduced them to 4-H, and because of our involvement with the industrious Pella 4-H, the kids entered fair projects. I can’t recall if they brought home ribbons or not. I just know it was a challenge.
Presently, as they grew, all three of our kids had a propensity to get involved in sports, which simply took up too much time. We ended up dropping out of 4-H, replacing it with football, baseball, basketball, softball and volleyball. Our school years were punctuated by what sport we were currently involved in.
Now that we have been living empty-nesters for a while, we attend the fair not to submit anything but just to enjoy the atmosphere.
Because I didn’t grow up with this World’s Fair syndrome, I’m never chomping at the bit to go. I know. It sounds rather un-American. My husband’s enthusiasm is contagious, however, and off we go.
The fair boasts presentations of all manners of garden produce such beans, tomatoes, gourds, a variety of apples and huge sunflowers, to name just a few. Piquing my husband’s interest, he pauses at the pumpkins. He’s been growing his own patch of pumpkins for a couple of years now and always appreciates a good-looking pumpkin.
The first day we attended was the pig judging Thursday morning. I have such an admiration for these youngsters as I watched them handle their animals. They are so dedicated. Many have their parents in the before-ring area with them, helping wipe or spray or brush or tend. The diligence and time it takes to nurture these animals to this point is mind boggling.
We are friends with a young couple with three children who are deeply involved in the fair. They bring cattle, pigs and garden vegetables and as well, submit multiple fair projects, all time-consuming and always a learning process.
My husband especially was keeping up with the progress of the older girls’ pigs, as we raise a few ourselves.
Every few weeks or so, we’d check in.
“How’s the weight?” he’d ask our friend.
“Only three more weeks to the World’s Fair!” he’d texted her one day.
Getting there for the pig judging that Thursday morning, the excitement was palatable. We hoisted ourselves on the middle top seat of the bleachers — a bird’s eye view. The judge pondered over every entry, pausing, eyebrows knit together, giving each participant his undivided attention.
“What’s he looking for?” I’d whispered to my husband at one point. A pig is a pig as far as I’m concerned.
What I did appreciate is the fact that he respectfully took his time. After choosing each one for their proper placement, he gave every youngster a detailed explanation of his decision, finally proclaiming the one he thought placed best. It was a process.
Leaving that morning, I’d learned more about the stature of a pig than I thought existed.
Our next fair outing was on Sunday. Getting there shortly before noon we headed to the 4-H stand to get a hamburger and a bottle of Sun Drop, with a cap. The bees were terrible and thoroughly enjoying a human smorgasbord. Add sweet soda, and the little zingers were drunk with delight.
Stopping numerous times to chat, we made our way around strolling through the barns, the buildings, along the midway with lights flashing and music blaring. The rides made me dizzy just looking at them. No thanks.
Stopping at the polka tent, we found a place in the shade and sat through a few songs. I couldn’t help myself — my toe started tapping. When we’d had enough, we stopped off at the bingo tent, conversing with people sitting close. Basically, we paid to simply sit a while. Switching out a card didn’t help.
Presently we made our way back to the car and getting in, I was smiling. I’d focused more on the details this year – the well-tended animals, all the exhibits that were created with time and effort, visiting with friends and strangers. I considered all the volunteers and the people needed to be on hand to assure it was a safe, fun event for all the exhibitors and attendants. All this pondering made me value the fair a bit more this year.
Smiling, I squeezed his hand. “Thanks for taking me to the fair, dear.”
“See? You like it.”
Yes. I believe I could be hooked.
Just after the fair was over he’d texted our friend: “Only 365 days until the World’s Fair!”
(“A merry heart doeth good, like a medicine …” Proverbs 17:22a, King James Version)
Kay Reminger was born and raised on a dairy farm, and she married her high school sweetheart, who happened to farm for a living in Leopolis. Writing for quite a few years, she remains focused on the blessings of living the ups and downs of rural life from a farm wife’s perspective.
