Growing up, my family went to at least one or two local fairs every year. I showed my flower bouquets, homemade cookies and hand-sewn blouses in the exhibit hall and showed my sheep in the livestock arena. And while my mom volunteered at the 4-H booth, I got to wander free and revel in all the noise and crowds and lights and greasy food. We mostly led an awfully quiet, peaceful life, enjoying nature and books and quiet crafts and a bit too much solitude, so I craved any chance to get out and mingle with the hoi polloi and overstimulate with sugar and brightness and fast loud fun. The Cumberland County Fair was our regular habit, and sometimes we’d get to the little Ossipee Valley Fair. But every October, everyone at school was always talking about the Fryeburg Fair, the biggest one of all, the most huge and crowded and crazy, that everyone goes to. I never ever got to go to that one because my parents hate fun don’t like enormous traffic jams and huge crowds.
Obviously, I’ve been dying to go ever since we moved back here. So this year we finally made it! I had REALLY high expectations after thirty years of anticipation. We went on a weekday afternoon, so the traffic jam wasn’t really a big deal. The fair was… well, exactly like all the other fairs, but bigger. SO big. I had heard the craft areas were interesting, and there was some nice stuff there. But after recently spending a weekend at the extraordinary Common Ground Fair, Fryeburg felt kind of ordinary. But still fun and bright and loud and crowded.
