Obscurity’s Great Lament

. . . or where do you suppose this guy got his MFA?

Grumpy Banana

Too bad it wasn't Mother Mary.

The Bridgewater Fair, 2007

                Vaughn showing Dash her new "tattoo"

Heading to the Bridgewater Fair, we have to drive like a mile-and-a-half around the fairgrounds to find the soccer field where we're supposed to park. When we finally get there we actually get a spot all the way up on the baseball field, right next to the pitcher's mound, nice and easy to remember. We unload our stuff, our kids, and head in the direction we saw others head. A woman calls out to us from a school bus: she's trying to fill more seats before shuttling folks right to the ticket booth. We think probably not, what with the stroller and all. KC asks her how far it is. "About a quarter mile," she says. I shake my head; we keep walking on. There are about a half dozen buses here—spewing their exhaust into the air because of a quarter mile? I shake my head. Eight bucks a pop for KC and me. Vaughn and Dash are free. "It smells like animals," Vaughn says. Smells like shit, I think. The first thing we see is an area roped off around some antique machines. One of them generates a mini waterfall. All of them spewing more exhaust into the air. "I'd rather smell the animals," KC says. We head over to the large white tent where the sheep are. Vaughn wants to see the black sheep. They're in the other aisle; we slowly make our way through the crowd. She says "Hi" to the black sheep, stares at them for a while. I wonder what the heck all the adults without children are doing here looking at the sheep. Make room for my kids you jerks. A sheep is bleating loudly. "I want to see the one whose baaing," she says. We follow the sound to end of the aisle. There's a white sheep being sheared. Face held still in some metal contraption. Beheheh, she bleats, mournfully, as if trying to reclaim whatever dignity she can.
      —•—
After the sheep, we head to the rabbit tent. But Vaughn's not too interested in the rabbits—she saw Uncle Joe's neighbor's two rabbits up close last week. Instead, the crowing of roosters at the other end draws her over there. We talk to a few of the roosters, but spend more time checking out the muscovy, and then listening to the very talkative African goose.
      —•—
We move on to another tent with a couple of large black horses, 1,600 pounders. They're busy eating and mostly we see their big behinds. On the other end of the tent is a small calf and a young bull. Vaughn takes to the cow, affectionately naming him Long Horns. I start to explain that the emblem on the hat I usually wear is for a college football team called the Longhorns, but I quickly realize that's much less interesting than the bull itself. And the next tent down is a whole long tent full of cows. She's really into the cows today.
      —•—
KC and Vaughn get a soft serve ice cream; we sit and they eat. Dash is good through all of this, taking in the scene, the crowds, the cooking smells, the exhaust smells, the carnival rides and game booths. Finally we head over to what was Vaughn's favorite activity last year at the fair: the sandboxes filled with dried-out corn. The boxes are crowded and Vaughn is shy. I point out places where she can squeeze in and start playing, but she's wary of the other kids. Finally, two girls, who look a bit old to be playing in corn, shake off and leave, and Vaughn gets in. She takes a shovel and fills a bucket, pats it smooth, then dumps it, and does it all over again. One boy gets really upset when his grandfather tells him it's time to go. The boy throws corn all over, flails his arms, has to be carried out. Later, a girl whose mother tells her it's time to go is met with screaming and violent whipping of the head back and forth. Vaughn won't be keen on leaving either. I think maybe they shouldn't have this attraction. I tell Vaughn we have to go soon. She says she doesn't want to. She has "finished" her most recent bucket filling. I tell her one more and then we're going. She scoops and fills, scoops and fills, and before too long smoothes out the top. She dumps it out, stands up, shakes off any pieces of corn caught in her dress, and reaches her hands up toward me. I picker her up and put her down where she can put her purple clogs back on. We head out with KC and Dash toward the women's room.
      —•—
One more thing to do before we go. We wander around and finally find the face and arm painting place. Most of the designs cost $2 or $3. Vaughn picks out the Little Mermaid, which is $7. KC talks her out of that. Vaughn's next choice is a unicorn, also $7. Lucky for us, Vaughn sees a heart in the $2 section, and she decides that's what she really wants. When the heart's dried on her arm, Vaughn asks us not to wash it out tonight. We tell her if she stays clean, we can do a sponge bath tonight and make sure the heart doesn't wash away.
      —•—
On our way out, Vaughn and KC cut through the tent where Long Horns is kept so Vaughn can say goodbye.

The General

Magnets 1