August 10, 2005
Fair smells lead children by the nose
By
Herald Editor
Going to the county fair appeals to my inner child. It also suits my outer child and her day care classmates.
Unlike any other summer event, the Northwestern Michigan Fair brings back cherished childhood memories. One walk past the 4-H horse stalls and I'm nine years old again, wearing husky boys Wranglers and dusty cowboy boots.
This past Monday I took a figurative step back in those boots, as my daughter and her day care class took a field trip to the county fair. When a brood of preschoolers leads the way through the equine barn, however, better watch your step. It wasn't fashion sense that made me choose brown dress shoes from the closet - just horse sense.
To put it delicately, going to the fair stinks; as in an olfactory overload for three year olds. Sure there are the sights (of animal bodily functions) and sounds (of said bodily functions) but it's the smells that lead hand-in-hand kids by the nose. It took just one whiff past the Elephant Ear concession stand for potty talk to commence.
Road apples. Cow pies. Buffalo chips. No matter the euphemism, all solid waste forms gleefully meet the kiddie 'yuck' factor.
Now when a 35-year-old passes through the poultry barn, he holds his tongue and perhaps his breath. He knows the air in the fowl exhibit is a bit foul. A three-year-old, however, is a walking id impulse punctuated by exclamation marks.
- Little girl: "It stinks in here!"
- Little boy: "Poopy, hee, hee!"
Even after walking through a half-dozen livestock barns, the end result of digestion remained an intriguing concept. Occasionally, a baby bunny would provide a temporary, if not pleasant distraction. But let's face it, cute and cuddly can't compete with cow flatulence.
Truth be told, I also savored the fair smells; albeit sawdust and saddle soap.
During my formative years, I donned a cowboy hat and showed horses at the hometown county fair. No one confused me for Gene Autry. Falling from my saddle in Western Pleasure succinctly sums up my cowboy career.
Part of the problem was my strained relationship with a nine year old named Lucy. Though she was a petite pony, reigning in Lucy was no easy task. She had a mean streak beneath her black spotted markings. I was Charlie Brown to her Lucy Van Pelt.
However, I still have a shoe box full of grand champion and reserve ribbons earned by this persistent Pony of America. Something about a show ring made her square up her stance in halter class.
Thankfully, Ella is content with My Little Pony which requires occasional brushing and fits in her toy box. As opposed to my little pony which requires occasional brushing, a second mortgage and fits in a stall with room and board fees on par with most public universities.
So my inner child and my outer - the one with suspiciously dirty finger nails - were content to hold hands and take in the fair sights and sounds. As for smells, they always have a way of embedding in memories and brown dress shoes.
Grand Traverse Herald editor Garret Leiva can be reached at 933-1416 or email gleiva@gtherald.com