Unlike spring and summer, which celebrate the promise of time off, fall is the reward for industry, the time of harvest. Well, symbolically anyway. During the past few grueling weeks of homework — the likes of which my sixth-grader has never seen before — I held out the promise of the Moore County Fair. Something to look forward to. Fall is deliciously full of things to look forward to.
Once at the fair, I surprised my kids by deciding to ride the Ferris wheel with them. I don’t go on amusement park rides as a general rule (it’s part of the weenie code, along with refusing to swim in cold water or handle harmless snakes). But I was hot and tired of standing. Looking up at the slowly spinning wheel, I figured what the heck. It’s a place to sit down with a potential breeze.
Turned out it was quite pleasant up there. The sun was setting in a pink sky, and the air felt cooler as our seat swung upward. The creaking noises were vaguely alarming (after all, even Disneyland had a fatal accident this past summer), but I chose to focus on the view (and some handy deep breathing exercises).
It really was nice up there at the top, swaying gently, the lights below just starting to show up against the twilight. After a few turns around, the ride ended and the kids, growing restless, rushed off to more challenging fare. Most of which consisted of spinning around — something they’ve been doing on their own since they could walk — at varying degrees of height and tilt.
When they were tired of being hurtled about in the age-old play of man vs. physics, we tried a few games of darts vs. balloons. Here’s an amazing but true fact: It is possible for a dart to hit a balloon and not pop it. A less amazing, but clearly established, fact is that the toy you “win” will be torn at the seams by bedtime. Since games were a feature to be paid for with allowance money, the kids quickly caught on to their wasteful nature, and we bid the hawkers farewell.
The pig races were funny. The giant pig (see it for 50 cents!) was not. My daughter was nearly in tears over that giant pig.
She worried that it spent all of its life hemmed into a small cage, pathetic and huge. I started to lie and tell her it didn’t, that it got nice vacations in the mud somewhere (which I suppose is possible, if not likely). Instead I just had to agree that the exhibit seemed unfair to the pig, refrained from pointing out what a great pig picking he would make, and cheered her up with the promise of cotton candy.
A shared plate of funnel cake, a look at the exhibits and the livestock (there’s something inherently funny about goats, don’t you think?) and we were good to go. Another warm September night, another Moore County Fair melting into childhood memory.
I’m not sure how much history my daughter absorbed the next morning at the Malcolm Blue Festival with her fourth-grade class. As we snaked our way through the house and museum — beautifully documented exhibits — it was hard to concentrate with hundreds of schoolchildren milling about. But those kids sure do have fun, and somewhere around the second or third visit, something probably settles into their brains about naval stores and basket weaving. Meanwhile, there are re-enactment soldiers to talk to, pennies to press, and an ox cart to ride if you feel like waiting a while.
The Malcolm Blue Festival is a cheerful blend of history exhibits, story-telling and bluegrass music, with brightly colored lollipops and local crafts for sale. But what my daughter enjoys the most (as usual) is petting the farm animals. No hidden freak of nature here. Just the usual soft and furry creatures, frantic to nibble 25-cent handfuls of feed.
Moore County’s rites of fall have begun. They’re probably different for every family. Our family hasn’t gotten to high school football yet. We’re still on Saturday morning soccer. But I can remember back to those crisp Friday nights, what to wear, who was sitting with who. Out driving after dark. Hmmm. Actually, I’m in no hurry for those days, come to think of it.
But now that October is here, every weekend will offer some festivity, from football to school fund-raisers to haunted hay rides.
The afternoons grow shorter, bluer, and cooler. And we rush to fill them, making hay while the sun shines.
Lynn Rhoades lives in Carthage. Contract her via e-mail at lrhoades@nc.rr.com.
