Fair-Thee Well

I saw a sign advertising the start of the local fair. This made me think about what the week before fair was like for me growing up. The church we attended when I was young, owned a food booth on the fairgrounds. Fair week was the only time it was used, so you can imagine how filthy it would be. Various church members would take turns going out to clean that nasty little booth and make minor repairs. By the end of the week, it would be clean enough to past the health inspection. I remember being excited about going to help Mother at the booth.

My great-Aunt, "Mommie", would stay at her house and bake things for the booth. You could always tell when the fair was coming because the whole street would smell like pound cake and fried sweet potato pies. She would bake the week before and the entire week of the fair.

Mother and I would deliver the goods to the booth and then work in the booth. I use to love to work the old fashion cash register. It was the old wood kind where you would just push the no sale button for it to open. I swear we were the busiest booth there. You could get the typical fair food there as well as "Soul Food" (no pun intended).

I remember the last time I worked in the booth. It was 1991, I was heartbroken to discover they had gotten rid of the old register and replaced it with a modern cash register. The new register seemed to mark the end of a golden age. 1991 was also the last year "Mommie" would stock the booth with her fried sweet potato pies and cakes. She had a massive stroke in November and later died that same year.

Fairs no longer hold the same magic for me. I haven't been to our local fair in years. But every now and then when I smell cotton candy or eat roasted peanuts I am reminded of that magical time and a part of me hopes that there is another little girl excited about spending time with her mother at the fair.