It’s the community timeline. When I lived in New York and didn’t make it home as often as Momma would have liked, her Sunday school ladies would smother me in hugs whenever I’d return, exclaiming, “I haven’t seen you in two fairs!”
It’s the most desired piece of real estate. Cabins are nearly impossible to buy; they are passed down from generation to generation. I know divorced couples who were more ensnarled in the battle for the fair cabin than for custody of their offspring. It’s that important.
It’s the stomping grounds of good ole tree-stump politicking. Every politician in the game shows up to press the flesh. When I was too young to lean red or blue, Ronald Reagan announced his bid for the Presidency from the Grandstand podium.
It’s finding ways to keep cool. You’ll see fans in every shape, size, and rpm, plus kiddie pools and giant toy water guns. My brothers and I hid more than our fair share of water balloons under the sawdust along Happy Hollow. I’m sure I still owe someone an apology.