The Wake

I arrive with scores of other people thick iron gates that seem more suited for a dairy farm than this family-friendly google-plex. Overhead, a small plane chartered by the Minnesota Republican Party circles low over the crowd towing a sign that announces this is not an ordinary Thursday; it’s in fact John Kerry flip-flop day.

Leaving the habit trail walkway I took from the parking lot, I am immediately barraged with a variety of loud corporate logos emblazoned on the tops of tents and the sides of trucks. From McDonald’s to SPAM to a giant Pepto-Bismol-colored CoverGirl truck with a hugely long line of pubescent girls and their mothers. Further on – you guessed it – more people filling streets and sidewalks walking aimlessly with pronto pups in one hand and shopping bags (complete with huge logos plastered on them) in the other. The many vendors literally push these bags into your palm if you’re inexperienced enough to wander within their grasp.

And oddly, instead of turning to the sky, hands on the sides of my face in my best impression of a 1950s B-movie scream of horror, I simply smile. Granted, the Minnesota State Fair and I go back quite a ways; it’s been a yearly family tradition ever since I can remember. I’ve experienced everything from my first terrifying and endearing ride on the Zipper, to gratefully finding my then seven-year-old sister after a desperate four-hour search, to mad-dashing for the beer gardens and cover while tornado sirens blared (I was too young to drink unfortunately). Despite this year’s curiously bad ad campaign (baa, oink, cluck, click?), an anticipatory chill runs down my spine as I get my first glimpses this year of such fair mainstays as the midway and the Sky-Ride.

As in years previous, I am with my family as we follow our usual pattern that includes a splattering of random food purchases, exhibits and bazaar, art and technology, animal barns, and once night falls, the midway.

There’s swing dancing in front of the MN/DOT snowplow courtesy of a band that’s playing at the KARE-11 booth across the street. In the Empire Commons building,

I observe an act of state-fair compassion when a woman approaches a Mills Fleet Farm employee who has been handing out pens.

“You got pens?” she implores with her hand outstretched.

“I’m sorry ma’am,” he replies, “We’re all out of pens, would you like a keychain?”

Her face falling, she nods her head and prepares to accept her keychain when a stranger appears out of nowhere.

“Excuse me, you came here just for a pen? You can have mine.”

In the agriculture building, my favorite building with its pseudo-art deco architecture, the crop art exhibit displays pop-culture images such as Buffy the

Vampire Slayer, Hello Kitty and the terror alert scale all amazingly made up of tiny seeds.

There are John Denver and Kenny Rogers look-alikes performing at the Leinie Lodge (much to my sister’s chagrin), while behind the crowd, two state fair mascots stage a mock battle with each other (much to my chagrin).

Weary and worn at the end of the day, the sun appears out of the clouds right before sinking below the horizon, and my 12-year-old sister and I ride the big yellow slide complete with a sunset view. As we make our way to the midway with all its extravagant lights and sounds, I think about a slogan I saw on a button that seems appropriate in describing the overall State Fair experience, “Think you’ve seen it all? Oh baby, hold on tight!”