There is something so magical about the memories of a childhood fair. For me it was the Franklin County Fair in Greenfield, Massachusetts. Every September around the first day of school the fair would roll into town with its twinkly carnival lights and fried smells wafting into the air. We lived on the parade route so the first beat of the drum from the high school marching band let us know fun was about to begin.
This year I went back to the fair with my own kids in tow. Rows of baby animals in the barnyard, scary rides swooping kids up over our heads as they screamed in delight, fried dough dripping with maple cream and powdered sugar. What's not to love?
As an adult I was more keen to the creepier aspects of things in carney-land. The ride operators were particularly sketchy this year, seemingly more toothless (if possible) and with almost no vocabulary whatsoever, just a low grunt and nod in the direction of the ride with a cigarette dangling from moss colored lips. The game operators must work on commission, luring the kids into the games like pedophiles offering candy out of a car window. Yikes.
Depite all this, the kids of course loved it, making it fun for all. I managed to spend all of my money and then some, but gained it all back in flab on my ass by eating my weight in french fries and fried dough. Nathan loved the fun house and Sofie rode a pony. Woo wee, see you next year.