There's just something about going to a good 'ol small town county fair. Growing up it was a highlight of my year to go to Grandma and Grandpa's farm for the summer. And in August I would collect all my little creations I had designed over the year and enter them. Sometimes I got blue ribbons, sometimes red, a few whites and then of course nothing. But I always got memories. You know, like the memories you can taste and smell. Whenever I smell fry-bread, the dust being kicked up by horses, or hear the sounds of the grand stand announcer, I feel like I'm back again. A ten year old, only concerned about if the judges will like my drawing or how many rides I'll be able to make it through before I feel sick.
It was fun to bring my son to his first county fair. He thought it was all pretty neat, and he hasn't even tasted elephant ears, or ridden any rides. Next year will be something to behold. And yes, I made sure everyone had plaid on, it's what you're supposed to do don'cha know.
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