The State Fair

(ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED: JULY/AUGUST 2003)

WHERE ELSE COULD YOU gorge yourself on corn dogs, cheese curds and cotton candy. . .learn to milk a cow. . .climb a giant ear of corn. . .take a slow float down an old millstream, or a dizzyingly high ride on a double Ferris wheel. . .earn a blue ribbon at a husband-calling contest (remarkably like hog calling). . .win your daughter a stuffed animal taller than she is. . .and see an oldies rock concert, a horse show, a marble-shooting championship and a demolition derby -- all in the course of one day?

It's a good thing it takes a full year for the state fair to come around again. We need that long to work up the stamina and appetite. Yet, once we're out there, buzzed from the sensory overload of the sights, smells, sounds and crowds, even a long day seems way too short. There's too much to see and do.

Even the most sensible Midwesterner tends to go a little crazy when the fair returns to town. If you're tempted by pizza slices, salt-water taffy, chocolate-frosted Belgian waffles and the Lake-n-Steak (walleye and elk on a stick), you might want to imagine the fair as a magical calorie-free zone, a day of amnesty from your regular diet.

It's also a fashion-free zone, which is part of what makes people-watching one of the prime attractions at the fair. Comfort is a whole lot more important than flair, as tube tops and T-shirts ("I'm With Stupid," "Friends Don't Let Friends Be Packer Fans") trump haute couture. These days, tattoos and brightly dyed hair are as prevalent at the fair as overalls once were. The event continues to absorb society's changes, yet the spirit of a day at the fair remains remarkably unchanged.

From the constant chatter of the midway carny barkers to the mooing of the cattle in the livestock stalls, and as the sweet smell of ice cream mixes with the earthier scent of hay, the fair represents a parallel universe of sensation. It's a reflection of our region -- like the one in the fun-house mirror. Let's explore.

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