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Minburn, IA to Des Moines, IA
There is no driving of the RV for a few days. We are in Iowa for a family reunion. And the Iowa State Fair. The first group to greet our RV, which rolled up the lane of my mother and sister’s farmstead yesterday, included my mother Joyce and my niece and nephew Ruby (age 7) and Spencer (age 6). The RV gets a thorough inspection, as small children are able to enter nooks and crannies that we had yet to explore. Soon, we were joined by my sister Sandy, sister-in-law Nancy, and nephew Elijah (age 12).
Thursday, August 17, is our first fair day. It is well known that the Iowa hosts the only state fair of consequence. The basis for my certainty on this issue is two-fold. First, the fair was glorified in the movie State Fair, where it served as the backdrop for an unlikely romance between Pat Boone and Ann-Margaret. Second, politicians use the fair—and Iowa’s status as the first testing ground for presidential candidates—to come to Iowa and remind the denizen of the heartland of their faithful service and promises for the future. To their credit, Iowans generally consider politicians as frauds and their promises as malarkey. It is almost always an outsider—with a consistent farm policy—who captures their affection. They remain suspicious of New Englanders, after being told by candidate Dukakis so many years ago that endive was the crop of the future.
We catch up with brother-in-law Rick at the entrance to the fairgrounds. Nephew Lucca (age 15) is working at the fair, helping keep the grounds beautiful and litter-free. Curiously, the theme for this year’s fair is the equivocal “Sounds Like Fun.”
The main purpose of the Iowa State Fair is to celebrate individual industry. No matter what your forte—raising flawless red angus heifers, guiding horseshoes to a pole, sculpting cows from butter, cultivating gigantic squash, tossing cow pies, or baking apple pies—there are events to honor those that excel through their patient, hard work. This is what I love best about Iowa: there are no natural-born heroes here, no elite or favorite sons, only those who enjoy the skill and good fortune that follow long periods of hard work.
The fair is also an early celebration of the fruits of harvest, although these are fruit of the strangest variety. The dependable staples of fair-feeding—the corn dog and the funnel cake—are sold in great numbers, but they are joined by foods of every possible sort. I watched family members eat all of the following: pork-chops-on-a-stick (PCOAS), home-made nut rolls, French fries, fried cheese curdles, cotton candy, watermelon (an odd choice), fried rice, fried twinkies, fried Snickers and Milky Way bars, caramel corn, sweet corn. Of course, they needed beverages to wash this down, and there were plenty to chose from: Pepsi, fresh lemonade, Budweiser, cherry phosphates, chocolate sodas.
At Sunday’s fair—the last day of the 2007 event—we all saw Don McLean in concert. Is there anyone, of any age, that does not enjoy the song American Pie? And would not sit for 90 minutes on a hay-covered alley by the stage, to here him sing it, in person, for free? Or could not be persuaded to enjoy this by hand-delivered quantities of the food and drink.
In between visits to the fair, we relax on the farm in Minburn, enjoying the company of two dogs, six cats, two horses, ten chickens, doves, bluebirds, and many, many flies. We swim at the Clive Aquatic Park (three pools, five slides). In all events, we enjoy familiar, beloved companions.
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