by Daphne Rice

Six of us. Like stair steps; two years apart, right down to the baby in the stroller. Brothers wearing matching blue and yellow plaid short-sleeved shirts, sister in a blue gingham sleeveless dress with daisy appliqués. These were our Tom Sawyer days of summer when we had no cares in the world other than fussing about ‘Who gets to ride up front?’ and ‘Are we there yet?’

“That’s him!” Spotting the state capitol building’s Golden Pioneer was like catching the first glimpse of the Pacific when you left the mountains and could almost smell the salt sea air; like rounding the last turn to Timberline and finding Mt. Hood practically in your lap. We’d done this before; we knew we were ‘Almost There!’

Spilling out of the car like marbles from a bag, we bounced and leaped and had to ‘settle down’ long enough for Daddy and Mama to maneuver the baby’s stroller across the dusty, bumpy parking lot. (How could our parents walk so slowly?)

Once inside the fairgrounds, rural America was ours to explore in the cool dark barns with sweet smelling hay. Bunnies, chickens, gentle-eyed cows, and real horses– just like in the cowboy movies. The grand finale was our chorus of hollering, “Daddy! Mama! Hurry! HERE’S the biggest pig! Look at the babies!”

Too soon, the hot afternoon settled like a dusty blanket around us. The baby was nodding, Mama wanted to sit in the shade. Within a grove of trees Daddy spread our blanket. He took two of the boys with him, promising the rest of us that, no, they weren’t going on the rides yet. They brought back corn dogs and icy lemonade. And ... a long strip of carnival tickets!

Mama took the baby to cool off inside the floral display building. Daddy led us through commercial exhibits where we were fascinated with a marvelous device turning potatoes into french fries, both plain and crinkly. We bought one to surprise Mama.

We had our first taste of politics; “Mama, are we Elephants or Donkeys?” “Daddy, what’s Au-H2O?” All the folks we met were friendly; they winked at Daddy and smiled at Mama and said things like, “Half a dozen!” and “Quite the stair steps!”

Colored lights twinkled on at sunset. We rode the rides until our tickets disappeared. Dusty, tired, all six of us dozed off on the long drive home. The last ride of the day would be Daddy carrying us into the house, even if we only pretended to be asleep.

Memories of the fair jumble together like snapshots in a shoe box; pictures of our past. Remembering, we can almost smell the mouth-watering frying onions and sweet scones and cotton candy, and yes, the animal barns, and the hot machinery grease of the carnival rides. We can just about hear the far away medley of carnival barkers, stage show music, and square dance callers.

It only takes a soft summer evening to bring back snapshot memories of the fair, and those Tom Sawyer days of long ago.