Fair Season

A ferris wheel.

That’s right folks; it’s fair season. Students are returning to classrooms, and summer is heading out with a bang. Literally, when you add fireworks.

From now through Halloween, nearly every weekend has some fair or festival, somewhere in the state. One of these years, I’ll get to see the giant pumpkin boat races. But my favorite is the Blue Hill Fair. (Not to worry: the Bangor Folk Festival is a close second.)

K and me riding the ferris wheel…and paying more attention to taking photos than the ride.

I’ve been threatening to bring my friend K for the last couple years and in this instance, third time really was the charm. She visited from New York and I got to steal her for a couple days before handing her over to family. It was, of course, fantastic. Both the hanging out with her and the seeing the fair together.

Someone asked me last year why I love this particular fair so much, and the only thing I could think of was the fact that by the time you leave, you’re covered with a layer or five of dirt and dust. She looked at me like she wanted to call the mental hospital.

The dirt is the proof that it happened. With so much of life clean and sterile and ordered, it’s easy to get lost in what is and is not real (or maybe that’s just part of being a writer). The dirt makes it visceral to me in a way few things are, now that I’m (pretending to be) an adult. It was real. It happened.

When my dad had his log home exhibit at the fair in Blue Hill (and we didn’t have school), we were there every day from open to close. I have so many fantastic memories. Dad liked to call me a “carny bum” then — a term which never failed to instigate the urge to run off and join a circus.

I never did, though. Pity.

 

*The photo quality is poor because I’m conserving media space. Deal with it.

Advertisements

4 thoughts on “Fair Season

  1. (hint: You can use Photobucket for your images. :P)

    I’m hoping that I’ll get to go out to a corn maze or something this year. I’m so looking forward to autumn. It’s going to be beautiful!

    • I’ve never been to a corn maze, actually. Always wanted to. Mostly because I’ve always wondered if I could actually get lost on one, since I’m not good at losing myself (a trait that is helpful some days and not others).

      I’m way more excited for fall than I feel I should be when summer feels like it’s barely started. But it’s like someone hit a switch on Labor Day.

      Now off to investigate Photobucket! (These things I do not know…)

  2. After life dealt me a harsh reality hand (which l won’t bore u with, here), l debated on whether l was of a mind 2 add 2 the discussion. While l came up w/ that answer being no, l decided…the world doesn’t stop revolving, because my little section of it, has taken a “bump”

    Anyway…l remember as a child, my class had a fieldtrip (somewhere in 0hio; Cedar Point, if l’m not mistaken) Long story, short….my english teacher invited/prompted me 2 join her on the “tunnel of love” ride. Now l waas in the 3rd grade, and hardly wordly. Nonetheless l was ill at ease w/ her offer (not because l felt there was some nefarious intent on her part) As it turned out, we either didn’t go on that ride, or if we did, l blocked it from my conscious mind 🙂

    Sry 4 straying a bit from what u had posted, but l guess l just needed 2 get that, out their. l’ll probably do a strip about that experience, one day.

    Take care M.J.

    • Thanks for commenting, as always! (I love comments, in case you hadn’t noticed. :P) I’m curious to see what you would do and where you would go with that sort of situation. And I hope those bumps smooth out for you soon!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s