Bottled Breath Breathes: August 2014

The last hurrah of the summer that I mentioned a couple of posts back? Well, it's about to be unveiled.

If you're not a Johnson, I warn you: you may be bored senseless by this post. It is ridiculously long. It includes sixty poor quality pictures of things that you probably don't give a hoot about. Sixty!! It also runs saccharine with nostalgia. Consider yourself amply warned. Don't read on if you don't like being bored.

HOWEVER...

If you a) are a Johnson, b) want to get just the slightest taste of what it's like to be a Johnson (scary thought), or c) like being bored, then by all means--keep reading!

Growing up as the youngest of 7 children meant a number of things. It meant having a house full of crazy, having a whole lot of love, having an equal share of imperfect, and more relevant to this post, it meant stretching those pennies as far as they would go. We never really went on your traditional American family vacations. Disney World? What's that? Don't get me wrong. I never felt deprived. We made our own fun, and lots of it. We did have a couple of family vacations that were more extravagant and will forever remain haloed in my memory. The family vacation we did have every year, though, was a short one. One day to be precise. But what a glorious day. These golden one-day vacations were spent at the Great New York State Fair.

Now, to your average person, the state fair would be classified as pretty ordinary sort of fun. Mini-golfing, going out for ice cream, spending a day at the state fair. But not so for a Johnson! Oh, no. The state fair is mythical. Ask one of us about our memories of the state fair and our eyes will glaze over with nostalgia, our faces will crack into an absurdly large smile, and we'll lose our ability to speak for several seconds. Everything about it was pure magic, even the apprehension we felt as we clambered into our family van, wondering whether or not our rusty metal steed would make it all the way to Syracuse without giving up the ghost.

Now as an officially Old Person, the fair hasn't lost its golden glow.

Ask me about the state fair, and I hear Tevye's robust voice in my head. Yep. That's my soundtrack to the state fair.

Dad was at the wheel once again this time around. He took far too long to get ready, as usual. Mom knitted steadily in the passenger seat, and Brother Luke, his lovely wife Jae Ryong, and I all crammed into the back. This was Jae's first exposure to the whole affair, and we were all eager to enjoy the firsts of the fair vicariously through her.

After a sleepy car ride, we caught our first glimpse. We're here.

Luke* and I exchanged knowing glances while poor Jae Ryong woke up sandwiched by her husband (who was wearing a silly grin like a small child) and I (who was pointing a camera at her face). She's a longsuffering woman.

* Poor Luke. He had the goofiest expressions in every picture I took throughout the whole day. Luke, if you're reading this, know that I think you look quite dapper in real life. (He does, people. Just take my word for it.)

Our first stop was the 4-H building. Counties throughout New York state set up their own booths filled with homemade arts and crafts and science experiments and such that children and teens involved in 4-H clubs throughout the state want to exhibit. Some of them also bring animals to show. Tradition demands that we give ample time to this building as soon as we enter the fair, and as you well know, when tradition demands we comply.

I rather like the poultry.

This fellow looked none too pleased with his temporary home and all the faces that were gawking at him.

This one is my favorite: the White-Crested Black Polish rooster. I suppose it's because I feel some kinship with him by virtue of the Polish blood we share. And perhaps because we're both, well, just a little odd...

Chicks.

The photograph doesn't do these handsome birds justice, not even in part. They're exquisite, and I hope they don't mind too terribly not having the space to fan their tails. Emancipation will come soon, I promise!

I had to take this picture because of the painting in the upper left corner. To any of you Sherlock fans out there, one of the homeschoolers must be a fan of Benedict Cumberbatch. It looked oddly out of place, and it made me chuckle.

The quality of my photo is really poor and washed out the color quite a lot, but the painting itself was really well done.

Cornell also had their Entomology Exhibit in the 4-H building. It was here last year, too, and I enjoyed it just as much as the first time. I only snapped a couple of photos, and I didn't get any of the best of the bugs.

Next stop: Morrisville's stable. This beauty was over 18 hands tall.

After finishing up at the 4-H building and the stable, we headed to the Dairy Building. This is perhaps one of my favorite places at the fair; I know it ranks up there for my siblings, too.

Not only do we get to see a different butter sculpture every year (yep, made entirely from pounds and pounds of butter)...

...but we also stop at the Rainbow Milk Bar. This, my friends, is the mother lode. It is at the very heart of the fair for us Johnsons. Remember how I said part of being one child of seven meant penny-pinching? Well, 25-cent milk is fair game! Some of my best memories of the fair look kind of like this (see below): Dad standing in line to buy a truly ridiculous number of milk tickets for each of us. Why exactly is drinking milk so memorable?

#1. Because anything you get in exchange for a ticket is more fun.

#2. Because it's stored in giant metal vats up near the ceiling and always tastes creamy, cold, and fresh-churned.

#3. Because it comes out of spickets. And--this is a big one--because we were able to drink chocolate milk to our heart's content at the fair (something we almost never splurged on at home growing up). We had white milk as often as we liked at home, but chocolate milk was the stuff of dreams and of the state fair.

#4. Because it makes you do things like this.

#5. Because Johnsons love milk.

After becoming so full of milk that we felt like cows ourselves, we moseyed on over to the Wildlife Conservation exhibit, where I took far too many pictures of fish.

Next we went to the building I--oddly enough--used to dread as a child. I liked parts of it, but we always spent so much time here that it seemed a waste of time that could've been spent exploring. As an Older Person, I'm guilty of wanting to spend so much time here now myself. It's the state fair's version of an oddities and fine arts museum.

I remember this room from when I was a child. It has all sorts of antiques and memorabilia. The centerpiece is this old self-playing piano. You insert the song you want into the proper slot, pump the foot pedals, and watch in wonderment as the keys play themselves. Dad once paid the quarter to let me have a go, and I still remember the magic of it.

The best part was the old man in blue. He started belting out the lyrics in a rich tenor voice halfway through the song, beating time with his fingertips.

On another floor of the building lies the Circus Room. The tables hold model after model of tiny lifelike circuses: elephants being loaded into trailers, clowns juggling, acrobatic acts, children eating cotton candy.

They have model trains, too. If I didn't tell you otherwise, you might think the one rushing past in this photo was life-size.

This building also holds what I used to dread more than anything: The Quilt Room. My mother, an amateur quilter who has a great knack for the art, used to spend what felt like an age wandering this room. Now that I've grown older, I can appreciate it, too.

Some of the most impressive craftsmanship in the room isn't quilts, though. Everything you see is handmade, and some of it is unbelievable.

A rugmaker with a sense of humor.

This somewhat tacky piece won best in show. It's an oddity, but for what it is it was actually incredibly well done.

Everything inside the aquarium--shells, sea creatures, vegetation--was handmade entirely from beads. Click on the picture to get a close-up and you'll be able to see the beadwork.

The highest (and best, if you ask me) floor in this building holds an art exhibit. Artists across the state--grade school students, amateurs, and professionals--submit pieces to be judged by category. Unfortunately, pictures of the artwork aren't allowed. This one photograph is the best I could do. The entire floor has a huge variety of art. I can't believe I used to think we spent too long here (granted, I was pretty young at the time).

After leaving the Fine Arts building, my dad wanted to stop in at this tent exhibit. I wasn't really too keen on the idea of going deep-sea diving, but I suppose one must sometimes make sacrifices for the sake of historical enlightenment.

Another Big Tradition that has lasted since childhood: eating lunch at The Great Potato Booth. Baked potatoes with all the fixings for a dollar? Count us in.

What you can't see in the first picture is the outrageously long line. Tradition is worth the wait.

From later in the afternoon: petting zoo. This lucky goat had so many choices.

She was awfully sweet.

Sheep can have some real attitude, if you didn't know.

This guy hails from Africa. I couldn't get a picture where his horns fit inside the frame.

Unimpressed.

Poor zebra foal. You don't belong here.

Hiding.

One of our last stops of the day was the Turtle Mound. This place is without parallel. The different clans of New York's Iroquois Nation come here to perform traditional dances, to sell handmade Indian crafts, and to generally make my bones ache for them now that I'm old enough to know what they've lost.

When I was a child I always watched the Indian girls dance with an honest sort of envy.

Indian princess.

I'm growing weary. This is a record-breakingly long post, and if my shortening narrative is any indication I'm losing energy...

I'll end by sharing my delight with our state fair purchases, the souvenirs we brought home:

Taffy.

Rocks.

Yep. Out of all the color and bustle of vendor after vendor hawking their wares, we Johnsons wanted just one thing: rocks. Granted, they are from Madagascar. We found them in one of the most ethnically rich crannies of the fair, the Pan-African Village.

When we got home late that night Dad set them out to scrutinize them all again, flashlight in hand to bring out the color.