Reflections on the Seventh Week of Summer

 

The seventh week of summer brought the eighty-seventh Cochranton Community Fair. Monday I entered a bear photo, a milkweed photo, and the hoodie I'd appliquéd with flowers. Wednesday afternoon Spence and I toured exhibits. In the Home Show building we found fresh flowers, baked goods with missing bites, and multiple blue ribbons for writing friend Catherine. I'd won three ribbons–two blues and honorable mention for my bear. Animal tents drew more people. Youngsters gawked, and moms explained. Neighbor Tammy's chocolate tort lionhead rabbit winked through his bars. Horses snorted, and a donkey danced as a young woman shaved his face. Seeing my camera, a monitor took her goat out of a stall for a better photo. In the corner between the goat and cow tents, girls hosed Holsteins sparkling clean. A Jacob's ram knocked it's horns, chewed, and stepped on slats in vain. He couldn't get out of his pen. Only poultry were missing–because of bird flu. When we returned Saturday night to pick up my exhibits, Spence and I wound through the fair grounds humming with music, carnival rides, families, dates, and middle school friends. We sat on the grass to watch garden tractors pull a weighted metal sled along a dirt strip. After the sky darkened to the point that red and green signal flags were hard to see, we walked back to our truck and settled in its bed for the firework display. I oohed and aahed. Spence chuckled. “You're nine years old when it comes to fireworks.”