A county fairy tale

First Things First: For those of you who are getting sick of my one-man Blog and Pony Show, relief is coming soon. Joining me soon will be three new Luther Seminary bloggers who are sure to boost the credibility and entertainment value of this space considerably.

That said, you're stuck with only me for a little while longer, and I'll continue to ramble on about my summer escapades. This latest rambling comes on the topic of the county fair.

Like so many things that normal people experience from a young age, the county fair eluded me for much of my childhood. For one thing, the Brown County Fair that took place near Green Bay, Wis., was underwhelming at the time. My parents took me to the nearby Outagamie County Fair once when I was in grade school, but thanks to an apparently sadistic carny's imposition of a nauseatingly long ride on the Octopus, I was in no hurry to go back. (I eventually did in 2003, but it was only to see Meat Loaf peform).

My perspective on the county fair experience has changed since my wife, Tracy, got her job at Dakota City Heritage Village in Farmington, Minn., last year. Dakota City's historic village and museum are part of the Dakota County fairgrounds, and the Dakota County Fair becomes the main event for Dakota City and its dedicated corps of volunteers in circa-1900 clothing. Tracy works roughly 12 hours a day throughout the seven-day fair, so I've tried in the past two years to visit her as much as possible. And last year, I had a pretty good time.

Maybe it was just because I wasn't up to my ears in a New Testament Greek course this summer, but this year's fair, which ended Sunday, was just a ridiculous amount of fun for me. My first visit of the week came on Wednesday, which happened to feature the demolition derby. I had never understood rural America's fascination with this spectacle, but I have to say that after two rounds of car-nage, I was more accepting. My favorite entry was, of course, the shiniest, nicest-looking car of the bunch. It was a 1980s model with a bright yellow top and blue body — something like the Swedish version of the General Lee. It was a wrecking machine from the get-go and survived a rear-ending that turned everything behind its back wheels into a spoiler. Amazing!

My visits on Friday, Saturday and Sunday were even better. For one thing, I got two chances to see Tracy maneuver the biggest string of farm equipment through Dakota City in the daily tractor parade. And if I weren't impressed enough by her ability to handle a 1956 John Deere Model 60, a steel-wheel wagon and a New Idea hay loader (and without running over any kids, I might add), I was certainly wowed by the array of four amazing new exhibits that Tracy has put together in the last few months. Seeing her work teach people history and help them relive days gone by with their grandkids does a husband proud.

Particularly impressive was her major exhibit on the history of immigration in Dakota County. Her work on that exhibit also put her in touch with some local Filipino-American families who in the course of their correspondence agreed to serve some mighty tasty Filipino food at the museum. It was through these friendly folks that I met Gian, an amazingly smart and entertaining fourth-grader who taught me much about both Filipino culture and his favorite cartoons.

There were many other highlights, such as the small wonders created by some other gifted folks that were on display in the 4-H buildings and the remarkably crafted, locally created Chautauqua performance on the Dakota City grounds, this year highlighting the entire history of Dakota County's railroads. Plus, my inside look at the sitcom-like antics of the Dakota City staff and volunteers in their period clothing was just priceless. And priceless is just about right, since, thanks to my connections with the curator, the only thing I paid for at the fair was a Saturday lunch of chicken fingers.

Yep, it turns out there's something magic about a county fair. Of course, the Minnesota State Fair is coming up at the end of the month. But I'll take the small-town charm of a demolition derby or tractor parade over a hyped-up string of big-name concerts any day (uh, unless Meat Loaf is involved).

Either way, I'm staying off the Octopus.