I know, I know, it's only March. Not time for the fair, yet. But, with all the snow out there, I needed to think about warm things to do.
Just like Brigadoon, the mythical town in Scotland that only comes to life once every 100 years, the Minnesota State Fair suddenly appears in all its full-blown glory, not every hundred years, but every September. And then it’s gone. Poof!
During the week and a half just before Labor Day, you will find nearly 2 million people milling around the extensive fairgrounds. They are happy people, for they have found a parking place. Not only that, but they bought their tickets and got everybody through the gate without losing a single kid. And they still have money left to spend on rides and edible things on a stick. It’s going to be a good day at the fair.
The first time I attended the Minnesota State Fair was in 1960. By that time, I had met Tom and he and his parents invited me to go to the “Great Minnesota Get-Together,” as it is fondly called. It has permanent buildings and black-top paved streets and so much going on that all I could think is, “This is what having your mind boggled feels like.”
We ate things I’d never eaten before. Remember, 1960. Cheese curds and Pronto Pups — yum. Tom Thumb mini-doughnuts — awesome. We saw things I’d never seen before. Huge farm implements, the Budweiser Clydesdales, an enormously high Ferris Wheel to which I said "no way.” But Tom made the day memorable.
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Did he propose on the vintage merry-go-round? Uh-uh. Pick me some of the tall red cannas and get arrested by the state fair police? Nope. He bought me a large, Japanese paper parasol — black with fat pink roses hand-painted on it. What a guy! I treasured it for many years until it finally shredded apart. It was a lovely day at the fair.
We made several trips down to the fair with our kids, but one of my most memorable visits was the time I went all by myself. Yes, it’s supposed to be a group thing — take your kids, go with your church group, plan a day with your bridge club. But I had driven a houseguest to the airport in Minneapolis. He had to be there by 7:30 a.m. and I was just dropping him off. We unloaded his baggage, hugged goodbye and the thought flew through my mind, “What shall I do now?” Stores didn’t open for 2 ½ hours and we’d already stopped for breakfast on the way down.
However, the state fair was already up and running. I’d seen the television ad. I even knew how to get there. What was I waiting for?
So, all day long at the fair, I did whatever I wanted to do, instead of “Fair by Consensus” — “let’s all do this and then let’s all do that.” Of course, I ate mini-doughnuts and washed them down with fresh-pressed cider. I had a pork chop on a stick and spent an hour in the Fine Arts Building.
I went to see the “Biggest Pig in the Midwest” and checked the Dairy Building to see Princess Kay of the Milky Way trapped in the icy-cold cubicle as they hand-carved her likeness in 50 pounds of Minnesota sweet cream butter. I bet she wished she'd brought her new snowmobile suit instead of the strapless prom gown she was wearing.
One of my regular stops was always the big barn that holds the enormous draft horses, all the magnificent giants with the bouffant feet. Nobody seemed to mind that I wandered around, as long as I stayed out of the way when the ground started to shake and they were on the move.
On Machinery Hill, you could go and surround yourself with big, grunting tractors, combines and threshing machines. That year, they even had the building-size authentic 1909 antique steam tractor that moved like it might get to town the week after next. All stuff fascinating to a “townie girl.”
I had stood and marveled at people who allowed themselves to be fastened to an overgrown rubber band and sling-shotted halfway across the midway. What the heck is wrong with you people?
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I was starting to get hot and sort of weary but I knew just where to head: straight to the damp cement coolness of the cattle-judging arena, where I could sit quietly, trying to figure out what was so special about that brown cow second from the left that the judges just gave the plate-sized blue ribbon to. Good thing they didn’t ask me.
Now, it was late afternoon. The evening entertainment was beginning in the grandstand and I was still 165 miles south of home. Better hit the road! I hope I remember where I parked my car; 7:30 a.m. seems like a very long time ago. Not quite a hundred years, but close. And yes, it was a good day at the fair. But, just five months from now, regardless of what you see out your window, the fair will come again.
Claudia Myers is a former costume designer for The Baltimore Opera, Minnesota Ballet and has taught design and construction at the College of St. Scholastica. She is a national award-winning quilter, author and a local antique dealer, specializing in Persian rugs.
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