My Happiest Place

Anyone who knows me, or who has spoken to me for more than five minutes in the past few weeks knows of my deep and abiding love for the Minnesota State Fair.  For ten days at the end of August until Labor day, the state of Minnesota gathers in Falcon Heights, just a shade outside of the neighborhood where I spent my formative years. Some of  my happiest and most vivid childhood memories revolve around the fair.

My father, his brother, and their father were fair fanatics.  I imagine the familial obsession went further back in the annals of our history as we are a St. Paul family from way back when.  My dad would go multiple times, always with the whole family, with just one or two of us and at least once on his own.  My mother came along when we were all little, but never had the passion for the fair that dad did. We had routines and rituals at the fair, some of which I follow to this day, it feels natural and comforting that some things truly never change.  Dad taught us early on that the only acceptable hot dog on a stick was from the yellow and brown Pronto Pup stand (the wiener dun in a bun) and no other would do, don't even think it. To this day, the first thing we eat at the fair is an official Pronto Pup, it does not matter what time we arrive, that is first.

That's the ticket!

I don't know what magic is imbued in that fluffy yet crunchy coating but it envelops the dog in a loving embrace of pure wonderfulness, a corn dog just won't do, it MUST be a Pronto Pup.  Generally there is a root beer barrel located in close proximity to the Pronto Pup booth so I naturally associate the two.  The last time dad and I went to the fair together was in 1992, a month before I got married and we managed to hit every single Pronto Pup booth on the grounds (eight, I believe) and washed a few of them down with root beer.  The sight of those booths and that first bite will always and forever bring me back to my father's side.

The other must is the All You Can Drink Milk booth.  When I was a kid, it was all you can drink for a quarter and boy, did we take advantage of that deal.  The milk was ice cold, foamy and somehow tasted a thousand times better than the milk from home because fair milk is special.  We'd hit it every year, just about first thing as it was near the entrance on Como Avenue where dad always magically managed to find parking.  That is until one fateful year when I was about nine years old.  Imagine a 90+ degree day, not a breath of breeze and packed fairgrounds.  Combine those conditions with four children drinking their body weight in milk followed by a trip to the livestock barns and I'll leave out the details of the horror that followed but a speedy departure and a change of clothes was required for all of us.  From that day on, my father issued a decree that the All You Can Drink Milk booth was off limits until we were on the way OUT of the fairgrounds, never again to be visited on the way in, and that rule stands to this very day.

Aaaahhhhhh!

The fair is a constant, comforting, familiar but ever changing piece of the Minnesota landscape and I am always shocked when I meet someone who grew up here but has never been.  That's the strangest thing I can imagine because missing the fair is simply not done.  In my family, fair time is our holy season.  Vacation days are taken, all other plans and obligations are put on hold, strategies are laid out in the days and week preceding the fair.  The new food list is pored over and disseminated in loving detail and with palpable anticipation.  New walking shoes are broken in well before the start because wussing out over a blister or sore feet will result in years of ridicule, a stock of sunscreen is laid in and appropriate headgear is tested and made ready.  Children of the family are indoctrinated from birth that these are sacred days, not to be fraught with whining, fighting or pooping out early.  If we had an official family religion, the Grandstand is our cathedral, the crowd noise our hymns and the Space Tower our ascent to the heavens.

There's me!

While the food is, obviously, a huge draw, the fair has innumerable attractions that truly requires more than just one trip to appreciate them all.  The Creative Arts building houses everything from needlework and woodcraft to Bundt cakes and jellies, all lovingly created and proudly displayed.  I am overwhelmed every year by the incredible beauty created by people all over the state.  Exquisite handmade lace, gorgeous embroidered table linens, jewel colored jams and jellies displayed and lit like pieces of art and baked goods nestled behind a frustrating glass barrier that keeps you from burying your face in the deliciousness that they promise.  You could spend the day in that building and still not see everything, it is a museum in its own right.

They kick you out for licking the glass.

Gorgeous!

 

Being a farm-centric state, the Agriculture/Horticulture building is the centerpiece of the fairgrounds, an enormous and beautiful art deco exterior holds many strange and mysterious things for a child raised in the city.  To me, it was like visiting a foreign land, complete with a language all its own.  To this day, I come out of that building knowing something I did not know when I walked in.  This year I learned about the gladiator style fight to the death between old and young queen bees and the shifting political scene inside a beehive. Apples, flowers, grains and sugar beets are displayed as lovingly as the quilts and cakes in the Creative Arts building.  This building also houses one of the more unusual art mediums you've ever seen...seed art.  Unbelievably detailed, painstakingly executed and sometimes surprisingly political, this is a wonder of creativity that I could never begin to accomplish.

Yep, all seeds

The Fine Arts building is more like an art gallery, again I marvel at the huge amount of beauty created by the people of my state.  While I cannot create art, I am an appreciative and mesmerized audience.  You move seamlessly from the hustle and bustle of the fairgrounds with the noise and crowds to a collection of art that rivals high end galleries.  It's a different atmosphere in the Fine Arts building, the pace is slower, it's quieter and even a bit reverent in those rooms.  I always find the Fine Arts building calming, a nice little quiet time in the midst of the fair.

There is some really beautiful stuff in there.

The Dairy building is where you find the quintessential Minnesota fair thing...the butter busts of Princess Kay and her court.  Seriously, life sized busts of 7 young women carved from butter.

Nope, not a metaphor, butter busts.

You can visit the booths of a variety of politicians, home improvement services, foods and products from all over the world.  The Miracle of Birth center is the cutest place in the entire grounds, the grandstand houses world class musical entertainment and a host of gadgets, tcotchkes and stuff you never knew you needed but you must bring them home NOW.

My little family has our own carved in stone tradition, we go to the fair early in the morning on the first Monday of the fair.  There is no better event that takes place during the entire fair than the herding dog trials.  I adore this event, not because the incredible skills of these dogs are a wonder to behold, but for the rookie class.  I love, love, love the rookies. Don't get me wrong, the experts are ah-mazing, but my heart will always by firmly held by the rookies.  These dogs are VERY new to the world of herding, most have been at it less than a year and it shows.  The dogs and their handlers have four minutes to get three uncooperative sheep through a series of obstacles and into a small pen.  The experts practically snap their fingers and the sheep obey immediately.  The rookies have not earned the respect of the sheep and it shows.  First of all, the rookies get SUPER excited to see the sheep when they are let  into the ring, the sheep are not nearly as happy and initially do their damndest to get the hell out of there with a lot of milling about and bumping into each other.  The rookies do a lot of romping about punctuated with belly crawling and straight up laying down (this is hard work, y'all).  Usually the sheep split off and then all hell breaks loose as the hapless rookies have no idea how to handle three separate sheep when the single cluster of sheep was barely manageable.  The handler tries to communicate commands to the rookie either through whistles or voice commands.  It goes well for the first thirty seconds or so but deteriorates quickly once the sheep realize they're dealing with a newbie.  By about 2:30, the handler has usually resigned him/her self to the fact that those sheep are not going into the pen.  The rookies are usually having too much fun to notice that they've failed.  This year, two handlers decided that it would be a good idea to train Corgis to herd sheep...it was not.  The sheep seemed confused as hell as to what they were even seeing, much less that they were supposed to obey it.  The Corgis, to their credit, did their best to keep up but have you EVER seen a Corgi's legs?  By the end of the four minutes, each on of those poor little guys had to be carried out of the arena, probably to nap for the remainder of the day.  However, the Corgis were no match, entertainment wise, to the clueless trainer that attempted to train a Husky as a herding dog a few years ago.  Huskies are working dogs, yes, but herding is definitely not in their wheelhouse.  Not. Even. Close.  This dog was so damn happy to see the sheep, there was barking, there was cavorting, there was that thing dogs do with their head and paws at floor level and their butts wiggling in the air.  The sheep were having none of it, moving as a group, they led this Husky to every part of the arena, managing to miss every single obstacle.  The even tried taking refuge by surrounding the handler for a moment until the Husky, barking happily hurtled toward them with reckless abandon, stopping only after a graceful leap over two of the sheep and literally scaring the pee out of the third.  The clock ticked down as the sheep leaned into the handler, the Husky danced and barked and the handler reassessed his life choices.  Time ran out and Dot, the expert clean up dog, shot into the arena to restore order.  The sheep seemed glad to see her and dutifully followed her out of the ring.  The handler called his dirty, happy, goofball of a dog to his side and gratefully acknowledged the largest and loudest applause of the day.  The Husky seemed to be satisfied. 

So there you have it, my loving ode to the Minnesota State Fair, start making your plans now for next year.