To be fair, we had such a moo-velous time, we almost couldn't rein it in

I adore county fairs...the sights, the sounds, the smells, the taste (Hello, fair fries!). I look forward, every August, with equal parts eager anticipation and loving nostalgia, to Pike Fair Week. Nevertheless, I can say, with my Loyalty Card to the Wyoming County Fair firmly in hand, that the Allegany County Fair is the olde-tyme country-est of all the county fairs. I know this may seem sacrilegious to the bulk of my less-than ten readers but bear with me...please notice, I didn't say "better." Pike has a scenic brook and bridge...Allegany has the train. You will find school-aged kids and teens sleeping in stalls, cuddled up against cows at both fairs. Pike has an old jail, a working forge, and a colonial-era kitchen. But Allegany has the porch.

Ahhh...the porch.

Growing up, my daughters ran safely wild at both fairs...enjoying the animals, exhibits, and attractions. After a bit of wandering, my friend Deb and I would select our favorite fair foods and then settle into the cool shade of the porch to watch the fair go by. If we were lucky, some entertainment would be being featured at the nearby pavilion. 

Those days are long gone. But Brad has heard my descriptions of my fair adventures countless times and this year, made sure that, instead of missing the good ol' days, we would work on making some new memories...living in the present and looking forward to the future rather than thinking wistfully of the past.

Which is how it came to be, that Brad Mosiman found himself planted on a porch in mid-July, listening to The Uke-ladies belt out Beatles hits ("Is that Tom Petty they're playing?" Brad asked incredulously, admiring their courageous gall..) to watch the fair go by. And, oh...Does. It. Go. By. Tattoos and temper tantrums...wanna-be cowboys and the real deal...prepositional gasps from the porch over under-dressed, under-aged, under-supervised teens heading over for a round of "I Got It," and us worrying about what they're gonna "get." "Remember, a lady at the fair always keeps her calves together," I yelled. Wagons rolled by...strollers strolled...and the senior scooters plowed through the crowd. 

We eavesdropped beneath the eaves; Scoring, at one-point, a one-sided cell phone narrative argument between an exasperated teen girl battling with what we assumed was her boyfriend while her supportive brother stood by, nursing his ice cream cone for an admirable length of time (Three Uke-ladies songs worth) while occasionally stroking her arm and back soothingly. "I don't think that's her brother," Brad announced. Our heroine was now gesturing madly and pronouncing the thoughtless villain on the opposite end of the line "dead to her." Her brother (or caring friend) moved out of range to shield his vulnerable frozen treat. The phone call ended, the two characters walked off...holding hands. I gasped again. 

The porch also serves as an excellent vantage point for the runway of fashion do's and (please) don't's but, more importantly, it serves as a handy Lazy Susan featuring the smorgasbord of delectable fair food options available. It was this endless carousel of cuisine that finally drove us off the porch despite the lure of the next featured act at the pavilion:  Clogging.

We time-traveled through the display train, showed our age and revealed how utterly boring we've become by oogling the lawn mowers and fan-girling over a yard-sized excavator that, with the fair special, came with TWO extra buckets. Remember when I used to beg for puppies? We spotted an 1800s general store sled that was, rightfully, on display in a nook protected with a chicken-wire shield. The "Do Not Touch" sign was more like a welcome mat at the exhibit featuring antique adding machines and store registers. 

And then...the barns! I kept our daughters updated in real time by ("Thanks, Mom," they texted back gratefully.) sending pictures of each animal encounter. It was tough to decide who squealed louder...the piglets over their position at their picnic or me over the piglets. We marveled over the cleanliness of the cows (and some of their GIANT heads...wow!) and appreciated such loving devotion to rabbits and guinea pigs that they were provided with hammocks, toys, and exercise equipment. Brad bonded with a goat and I went insane when not one, but two, gentle giants extended their long necks to offer loving arm nibbles. "Why aren't you taking my picture?" I cried ecstatically at my husband as I returned horse hugs, kissing their soft noses and thanking God for this fair.

We'd heard rumor of a rodeo thanks to our porch exposure and could now see the grandstands filling up. I'm "on the fence" about rodeos. I definitely appreciate the skill of humans and animals alike. I love when a working animal can be utilized, humanely, in a purposeful way. But, of course, I've also heard the horror stories. I am also aware that I am an uneducated, under-informed, arrogant, self-righteous zealot that needs to always recognize that there is ALWAYS a bias (Example:  Read about the flank strap from rodeo promotion sites and then animal welfare sites...QUITE the difference), that there will always exist extremes, and that first-hand knowledge is a good place to start in developing an opinion. 

It was fun. Patriotic. Americana. 

There appeared to be more danger to the humans than the bulls.

Watching the bulls quickly kick off their riders and immediately return to the gate was gratifying. "I'm done...I would like to go back to my stall and eat now." I am not so delusional to believe that abuse does not occur in the industry...abuse occurs in ALL industries. But these are expensive animals and the whole world is watching...both of which greatly encourages the best possible treatment. Personally, I still prefer the horses:  I love watching barrel-racing and roping. Before this experience, I strove to "steer" clear of bull-riding and bronc-breakin'. But now I realize that my opinion wasn't utterly fair as it really was, just, my first rodeo.

And finally...the food. Remember Templeton the Rat's wild scavenging run through the fair from Charlotte's Web? Yeah. Only my awareness of a night filled in gastric distress kept me in check...how can one decide? I made an impulsive miscalculation in my lemonade order. Number 1:  Always look for bees...they are your first visual proof that you are at an authentic lemonade stand. Number 2:  If there are pre-filled lemonade drink containers standing ready...run away. I failed. "How do you know?" Brad asked, bewildered. "No gritty sugar residue on the inside of the cup," I explained sadly, sipping my sub-par beverage. I also messed up by holding back in front of my husband as we "self-sugared" our fried dough. We ALL know that, left to her own devices, Amy Mosiman would coat that confection with at least two inches of snow. But, no, I wanted to appear like a rational, reasonable person who exercised moderation and self-control. What an idiot.

But I scored BIG on kettle chips! Disappointed, I left the long line for curly fries after watching the poor vendor slaving away furtively at his hand-held potato cork-screw cutting machine. We wandered and weaved through the crowd when I spotted the sign. We drew close to see the daunting $10 price and I watched Brad's poker face go blank as he asked if this was what I wanted. I knew a responsible, economically-minded person would say "No." While I stared at that ridiculous sign and thought about how, at the grocery store, you can often buy three family-sized bags of chips for the sale price of $3.99 and sometimes at the buy three/get two free...Brad Mosiman stepped up to the counter and made our order. 

We chose...wisely.

"These are incredible," Brad remarked as we made our way through our generous, punch-bowled portion of steaming hot, salty, AMAZING chips. We had returned to the rodeo in time to pray for the injured bull-rider being taken away in an ambulance and to catch the beginning of the team calf roping. The rodeo experience is THAT much better when accompanied by the right snack. Our potato chips disappeared right as the storm appeared...sending people (and animals) scrambling for shelter. We made it safely back to our vehicle and headed home...so happy.

"Did you have fun?" Brad asked, carefully driving us through the storm (Please notice significant metaphor about my life there). Grinning, I told him, "It was incredi-bull!" "So have you changed your mind about rodeos then?" he wondered. I thought about that for a minute. "It's too soon to tell," I answered, "maybe I need to start with something smaller." "What's smaller than a rodeo?" Brad inquired. "A sidewalk-eo!" Brad groaned. "Maybe next year, you should go on your own." I laughed, "That's fair!"