A Day at the Fair

Adell Lindsey

For the last seven years, I have lived in Minneapolis. I seem to spend my life in my car, commuting from work to school and back to my apartment again. Although I enjoy the bustle and convenience of city life, every summer I find myself becoming nostalgic for the country, particularly the farm animals. A few years ago, I rediscovered one of the great summer pleasures of my childhood—the Crow Wing County agricultural fair. Now, in the second week of each August I make the two-hour drive north to the fairgrounds of the community where I grew up, just to see the fascinating animal barns.

I spend most of my time at the fairgrounds in the 4-H animal barns. (The 4-H organization provides educational and recreational opportunities for young people in rural communities.) The rich, sweet smell of the barns fills the air - especially on hot days - and is noticeable even at the far end of the fairgrounds. A combination of hay and warm animal skins (with the undeniable tang of livestock manure), the smell sends city slickers racing from the barns with handkerchiefs covering their noses. However, even after seven years away from the countryside, I prefer the smell to the hot asphalt and thick exhaust fumes of a city summer.

Entering the barns, I always need to stop and blink for a few moments to adjust to the dimmer light. To keep the animals cool, the barns are lofty and shady. Dust motes and bits of hay dance in the few rays of light that slide through gaps in the roof. Soon, I see aisles of clean, low stalls, each stacked with bales of hay. Depending on the day of the fair, the stalls hold goats, pigs, or heifers—as well as the occasional llama, a newer category in 4-H livestock competitions. Their shufflings, slurpings, munchings, and grunts make a low-key accompaniment to the distant bells and tinny music of the midway attractions.

The animals are not alone in their stalls. Brushing the animals, mucking out their stalls, napping on hay bales, or changing water dishes, children and young teenagers from 4-H spend all day with and around their animals. For them, I think, the ribbons and certificates awarded to the “best” specimens are not as important as the bonds developed with their animals. I’ll always remember onе little boy, probably seven or eight years old, fast asleep on a hay bale with one of his arms thrown around the neck of his black-and-white-spotted goat, who seemed to lie watchfully and protectively beside him.

Near the animal barns is the competition ring where 4-H participants show off their calves and heifers to judges. The ring smells sweetly of sawdust—mostly because one little boy, in a cowboy hat that seems far too large for his head, scoots into the ring with a big shovel to clean up any messes the nervous animals might leave. The announcer is a very large gentleman, his face hidden behind mirrored sunglasses, who always seems to find something nice to say about the animals as well as their young handlers. “Let’s have a big round of applause for the little lady!” he’ll bellow after a tiny girl has finished leading an enormous cow around the ring.

On the drive back to the city, when I’m full of corn dogs and blueberry milkshakes, I wonder about the turn my life could have taken. What if my parents had signed me up for 4-H instead of soccer? What if, instead of an aloof cat, a 300-pound pig was waiting back in my apartment for its dinner? Back at home, I scrape the mud and hay fragments from my boots and look in the fridge for dinner. Hamburger? Pork chops? I decide to make a salad instead, and vow to start growing herbs in my windowbox.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-14