Déjà Vu

So last year I rambled extensively, rapturously, about the Great New York State Fair. Annual trips to the State Fair are a Johnson tradition, and raptures are to be expected when it comes to Johnson traditions. This year Mom and I returned after some internal debate about whether or not to go.

Going to the State Fair was always Dad's pet project. All of us children (and my mom) have been going for a good many years, but we never learned how to navigate the labyrinthine fairgrounds; we just followed Dad. Somehow, he lent the joy and magic of perpetual childhood to the fair; he was not a perpetually childlike man, nor a perpetually joyous and magical one. The fair was his one notable exception. 

The die was cast in favor of going to the fair once again--despite the lack of its primary champion and torchbearer--because we would be going with my sister, her husband, and their children. 

I'm glad we went. 

It was bittersweet, but I'm glad.

Reading on the way, of course. (What else would one do?)

I got to sit next to this little urchin. He was a livewire and so excited.

The Turtle Mound where the Indians dance. If I could dance at all, I'm pretty sure it would be like them...

Enraptured.

Next, something new. We found a spinning, weaving, rug hooking, hand-woven yarn extravaganza. Millie was in seventh heaven. The rest of the fair was utterly lost on her. I mean it. Lost. You see, that incredibly nice woman noticed how Millie took to hand spinning yarn on that little spindle there like a fish to water, and she told Millie she could take the spindle for the day (along with some wool) and bring it back before we left. Things just went downhill from there...

The famed 25-cent chocolate milk.

And the equally-famed butter sculpture, which is different every year.

And the (super scary and dangerous!) free cow ride.

[I told you. That girl missed the whole fair. All she was good for was spinning. Spinning, spinning, spinning.]

The aquarium at the Wildlife Conservation exhibit.

Fast turtle!

The Sky River butterfly exhibit where you get Q-tips sugar wands to attract the winged lovelies.

I wanted to get a picture of his curled-up proboscis. See?

There were throngs of people in the butterfly tent. My favorite specimens of the human variety were the dapper elderly-ish ones with butterflies on their heads.

I collected a few myself.

Next was the petting zoo. Once again, I was both childishly delighted and grown-uply saddened by the longsuffering look on the faces of creatures like this African antelope. (I wish you were in Africa, too, and not on a pile of sawdust under a tent in a parking lot.)

Aidan was wonder personified.

He kept trying to climb into the enclosures to make friends.

The more I stare at a zebra's face, the more hypnotized I feel. God did an awfully nice job on them.

The rinky-dink circus. It had a horrible, off-color clown and scantily-clad women, so we left early. Not before we had seen this girl perform, though. She was pretty crazy.

We ended the night in the dark with all of the children choosing a fair ride. This was suspense-filled and full of agonizing decision-making, but finally each of them came to a decision. Annika and Susannah, full of bravery and gutsiness, decided to go on the Comet II, roller coaster extraordinaire. Annika was plucky to the last, but Susannah stood in line with some fear and trembling. [When she got off the roller coaster after screaming herself hoarse the entire time, this had changed to sheer terror and panic-stricken sobs.] Susie-bird, if you're reading this please know that you recovered admirably and I write all of this with respect for your courage in tackling a beastly roller coaster. Well done.

I also went on my first fair ride ever! I've been on lots of amusement park rides and roller coasters, but never on a ride at the State Fair. Growing up, by the time I came around we spent money on Tangible Things Only at the fair (the older siblings, like Abigail, spent their money on rides). Millie wanted company on the ferris wheel, and I was happy to oblige. She insisted that memories are as well worth spending money on as Tangible Things, and I couldn't agree more.

While we were standing in line, I was struck by this couple: the girl in the plaid 50's dress and saddle shoes, and the man in khaki pants next to her. You can't tell just by looking at the picture, but they had a thick aura of old-fashioned wholesomeness about them as they stood sandwiched between the Normal Mom and the Tattooed Yankees Fan. They stood so very calmly, placidly. I found myself making up a story in my head about them. They didn't really talk to each other, seeming both slightly awkward with one another and at the same time well-pleased with one another's company. I imagined they were on a first date to the Great New York State Fair. A ferris wheel is just about the most romantic fair ride, I think. Anyway. You had to have been there. But they made me chuckle delightedly.

And he kept staring quizzically up at the wheel as it slowly turned.

Finally, our moment arrived.

There's such a sense of quiet, of peacefulness that hangs in the air when you're suspended at the top of a ferris wheel looking at the colors and lights and commotion below. Millie was the perfect one to share these moments with. 

She was serenity itself.

I will end my fair post with two things. The first: a rock.

If you go to last year's fair post again and scroll to the very bottom, you'll see that we bought rocks at the Pan-African village. I've recently realized how quirky my love for rocks is, and how it's something I inherited directly from Dad. I love that picture of Dad from last year, flashlight in hand, scrutinizing our finds after we got home.

In his honor, and because I liked it, I got another rock this year. 

Plain and rather ordinary from far away, but get close enough and give it some light, and you'll find that it has soul.

The second thing: a song. My favorite part of the fair this year, more than ever before, was the top floor fine arts building. As I reached the top of the staircase and was surrounded by walls full of artwork to soak in, I heard music wafting from one end. I followed it to the old music museum room with the player piano and the singing man. Annika was sitting there pumping the pedals, the keys were being pressed by invisible fingers, and I joined in as just about everyone in the room sang Somewhere Over the Rainbow. 

It was beautiful, and I was transported to that odd place I think we all house within and visit with varying frequencies, that place where you feel old and young and grief-stricken and euphoric and newborn and eternal all at once. I remembered sitting in that very seat as a child pumping those pedals.

Here's a video so you can get just a taste. (It took me forever to figure out how to share it with you all--I couldn't do it through Blogger, so YouTube it was...) The quality is horrible, it's only aligned vertically for a few seconds before the camera is flipped and the image goes sideways, and perhaps it makes it seem like the whole paragraph above seem like sheer hyperbole.

But if you had been there and somehow inside my skin?

You would know that it's the truth, every bit.

Anyway. 

That was the State Fair this year. Until next time.