Everyone has his or her weaknesses. It’s only human. One of mine is a recurring one, and by recurring I mean like once a year, but not more in deference to my waistline. I’m talking about your traditional, run-of-the-mill county fair, where your shoes get dirty with God-knows-what, and where even the mention of new wave cuisine could find you fed to the animals for lunch. Not that I have a drop of farmer in my blood. On the contrary, as a self-proclaimed urbanite, you are more likely to find me eating al fresco at some city bistro rather than standing devouring a turkey leg with my bare hands while some unknown red sauce drips down my cheek. That is, most of the time, because come summer, it is the county fairs that get my attention (this year, the Loudon County Fair, to be precise), and I frankly couldn’t care much about those bistro. It is secret sauce I want, lots of it, and I want it on everything from greasy fries to corndogs.
But county fairs are a lot more than a food pilgrimage for me. They are also therapy. That is because there, amongst the people bathing pigs, parading cattle, and taking care of show goats, I will also find the kind of real people that you rarely see in the big cities. You can’t pretend much when you’re rubbing clean a pig and herding goats the next minute. Things are, well, what they are. No pretentiousness, no bragging, no posturing, no nothing, but heroes all in my eyes. As I see it, the farmers who take part in these county fairs are some of the key linchpins in that complex system which feeds every one of us. And that is why taking out a day to see the fruit of their efforts is something I never miss every summer. They don’t even mind being photographed, which is an added bonus. All I know is that it always feels good being out there learning about things I don’t know anything about and spending some enjoyable moments with people I have never met before. Just can’t wait for next time, and those corndogs better be there.
Some things never change, and that’s OK with me. Don’t get me wrong, I pretty much love every convenience this modern world has to offer, specially if it makes everyday life a little easier to bear. But even when modernity rules the day in the cities, I can’t help but find it refreshing to know that some things out there in the “real world” don’t ever change much. In America we may not have the incredible ancient ruins you will find all over Europe, but one thing we have over all those Europeans is a good, old-fashioned county fair. Not sure whether it is just nostalgia or something a bit deeper than that, but for this humble photographer, a country-flavored county fair just does the trick every time. Cattle, chickens, pigs, sheep, you name it and I want to see it all. Thick, fluffy corndogs, cotton candy, and pulled-pork sandwiches? Can I get an Aaamen?
However, no matter how much some of us love these county fairs, the sad reality is that for most city folks, their existence doesn’t even register on their life radars. I mentioned the ongoing Loudon County Fair to some folks recently and their reaction was tantamount to me offering them to join me for Typhus injections. They’ve all been to them, but that was back then, way back then. After all, are they not primarily for children? Well, yes and no, even if for most grownups it does bring out the inner child in them. And who would like to ride on an old, clunky ferris wheel when you can go ride air conditioned gondolas on a mega-structure like the London Eye? Well, call me sentimental, but yours truly does.
Above all, I really like the people I meet at a county fair. Hard-working, approachable folks who are an incredible source of information about anything having to do with raising farm animals and bringing them to market. And they put their children to work, big time. No cell phones or video games for these kids when work needs to be done, and there’s never a shortage of work at a farm. After several hours of conversation, education, and stuffing my face with things my doctor would cringe at, I found the whole thing to be quite a welcomed break from the city-sleeker habitat I call home these days. Better? Not necessarily, but it really felt good to get some “mud on my boots” for a change.