You Can't Go Home Again -- Or To the Fair (Patricia Potter)

First, I have to admit that I am and always have been a child at heart. When I’m a hundred, I will still be ten. I take a childish delight in nearly anything new and many things old.

I’ve always had a passion for ice shows, circuses, and anything to do with a boat – from canoes to windjammers. I adore neighborhood arts and craft fairs. But for the past forty years I’ve neglected one of the events that always called to me: the state fair.

My first experience at a large fair came when I was seventeen and wanting desperately to fall in love. I had a rare date with someone I liked very much, and he took me to the fair. It was a star-studded night as I remember. The sounds of the carousel and entertainment were magical, the lights enchanting, the food irresistible and the people happy. We went on the Ferris Wheel, and he won a stuffed bear for me. I was in heaven.

The next fair I attended was in Atlanta. I double dated with a friend, and though I had graduated from college and was an almost jaded newspaper reporter my enchantment was undiminished. I loved all the glitter, and crowds and again the Ferris Wheel and this time a roller coaster. I gained another bear, and I still have that aging bruin. Winning bears apparently is a rite of passage for every red-blooded American male.

That was my last one until yesterday. There either wasn’t one around, or there wasn’t time to go, nor anyone who shared my love of midways and rides and countless refreshment stands. I moved to Memphis ten years ago and each year eagerly looked forward to the Mid South Fair held every September. It was supposed to be a wonderful affair but deadlines always got in the way. Or I was traveling. But this is the last year for the fair. Maybe. It is being ejected from its location, and I decided I had to go. I’d heard about the wonderful food, and the great roller coaster (did I mention I love roller coasters?))

Not only might it be my last chance to attend the fair, but my friend, Deb Dixon, a woman of endless talents, had won first prize for a quilt, and it was displayed in a place of honor. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t go and view it?

Another deadline, but what the heck.

So I went to the fair, and discovered -- quite sadly -- you can’t go home again.

Deb’s quilt was marvelous, but somehow everything else was off. The funhouse looked like a trailer that barely survived Katrina. The Ferris Wheel wasn’t tall at all. The barker for a plastic booth proclaiming the world’s smallest horse looked old and tired. I decided to pass it by, as I passed a booth selling glimpses of an alive headless woman. According to the trailer housing the exhibit, a starlet had been decapitated but somehow doctors had saved her.
It cost two dollars for a peek. I don’t think so.

Okay.

Down to the barns to see the animals. The barn was empty, the animals gone. Petting zoo next. Plastic hens and a few rabbits too well caged for petting. No kids, either.

Food. The food at the Mid South Fair is legendary. I decided to taste a little bit of everything. Started with some kind of potato chip fresh from oil and dribbled with cheese. The first few pieces were good, then boring. Philly cheese sandwich next.

Nothing like the one I had in Philadelphia.

Fresh corn on the cob. Tasteless.

One barbecue rib. My favorite barbecue place down the street was much better.

It’s ninety-two degrees. There’s no shade. The booths look worn, the trailers tired, the rides unadventuresome. The roller coast had been sold off, and was gone.

Time to go.

I would have been disappointed had I not known that I will never again yearn to go to the fair when I’m on deadline. Relief.

And yet I feel as if I’ve lost a part of myself. Some of the magic is gone. I’ll miss the anticipation, even the disappointment when plans to attend fall through. There had always been the fair – alluring and magical – and now it’s faded.