Going to the Ex

There is one Exhibition in my hometown every summer, although it is not a replica of the Great Exhibition: it’s more of a temporary theme park, with rides, games, fried food, and cheap plastic trinkets. I’m not wild about rollercoasters, so I’ve never been the Ex. My preference definitely swings towards events that are more specific to the Prairies and Midwest: agricultural fairs. These usually contain some combination of horse shows and cattle competitions, prizes for the biggest pumpkin or best rooster, festivals dedicated to corn and apples, sheep shearing, tractor pulls, and, charmingly, children’s pig wrangling. You can find a startling array of jams and preserves, wood carvings, quilts, ceramics, and other useful knick-knacks at these events, complementing the livestock and poultry.

Preparation for a fair of this kind is key. You will be on your feet all day, so comfortable shoes are a must. But there will also be every domesticated animal known to North America, so it’s best to skip your brightest white sneakers, and closed-toed shoes are preferable. It will be blisteringly hot, so a big hat and light clothes are a good bet. Do not try to look like a farmer or a cowboy - the real ones will be able to spot you a mile away, and frankly, so will everyone else. Be ready to drink lots of water and reapply sunscreen like it’s going out of style.

You will start with the horses. They will be surprising - you are very likely to see horses bigger than you thought it possible for horses to be. Seventeen, eighteen hands high, with hooves like dinner plates and backs you cannot see over. These are the gentle giants, the plough and draft horses, descendants of the muscle on farms of old. They are intimidating to look at, but usually quite sweet in nature. The ones you want to watch for are the ponies. Small, barrel-bellied little hellions, with wild eyes and nasty tempers, Shetlands are especially moody. As a general rule, I avoid them entirely. In all cases, regardless of size, their barns will smell pleasantly of sweet hay and manure, of homemade fly spray and hoof oil. This is a divine perfume, exclusive to such events.

There will be cows next. These will be the cleanest cows you’ve ever seen. They will be, like the draft horses, astonishing in size, and positively glowing. They will chew their cud placidly as an energetic teenager curries their backs with aggressive swipes. The calves, weaners, and stirks will be curious and inclined to explore everything with nuzzling noses and tongues. Like human toddlers, they explore the world by putting things in their mouths.

If there are sheep, they will be the most delightful of all the livestock. Their lambs will stick close by, tails wagging at startling speed, especially when feeding. The sheep, too, will be cleaner than any you’re likely to encounter, but that might be hard to spot at first. Generally, they are decked out in blankets or fly sheets, little sheep-shaped outfits that cover them, nose to tail, to protect them from flies and keep their gleaming fleeces clean in their stalls. Most of these sheets go over the sheep’s head, with eye and ear holes cut out. They tend to have a sort of Sheep from Space look about them, like little sheepy astronauts, which is very possibly the most charming thing you’ll see all day.

You will admire chickens and roosters with unusual plumage, especially those with feathery feet. You’ll exclaim over the excitement of sheepdog trials and the excruciating sweetness of little pink piglets, nosing in straw and staring up at you through impossibly long lashes. There will be dog and cat shows, and the usual solo llama farm represented by some very bad-tempered llamas, alongside the enthusiastic knitter who raises them for their wool. She - and it is always nearly ‘she’ - will be more than happy to show you how a spinning wheel works, and sell you a skein or two of her finest alpaca. Very often, the creature who produced the wool in question will be made known to you on the label, so you can say ‘thank you’ to Betsy, Pumpernickel, or Steve for their gift.

A word on food: the choices on offer may make you quite giddy. Turkey legs, roasted and eaten like a medieval lord; huge sandwiches, impossible to eat with dignity; funnel cakes and ice cream, melting down your chin; cotton candy, sticky and sickly sweet, in unnatural colours; and gallons of lemonade, with significant pucker power. Tread with caution - fair food is one area in life where less is more.

When you have seen every possible stall and show, filled your arms with jars of pickles and jellies and wildflower honey and your mind with memories, it will be time to pack up and go home, to say goodbye to the fair until next year. I can promise you the best sleep of your life after a day in the sun, and a newfound appreciation for the smell of manure. I’ll meet you there next summer.

Jennifer