Site search
sponsored by
Everybody has at least one fair story. Most of them are happy — or, at the worst, they fall under the we-can-laugh-about-it-now category.
There's the man who can tell his grandkids about how Tammy Wynette beckoned him to join her onstage during the closing bars of “Stand By Your Man.” The parents who smiled at each other over the head of their toddler as he witnessed a sow delivering more than a dozen piglets at the Swine Barn.
A longtime exhibitor with drawers full of blue ribbons can think back several decades to her first-ever entry, a chicken rejected by judges because of tail smut (random black feathers, not a dirty posterior). A fervent vegetarian might recall what nudged him in that dietary direction: one too many corn dogs before boarding the Tilt-A-Whirl.
And regardless of how the relationship ultimately turned out, who can fail to soften at the memory of a first date at the fair?
This morning the Douglas County Fair opened its gates for another round of exhibits, activities and entertainment — all sure to figure in new stories to be told in years ahead.
Our fair isn't Seattle's Bumbershoot nor Los Angeles' Hollywood Bowl. Sure, we love visitors to see what a great fair we can put together, but the point isn't to create a regional signature event that draws the masses.
Instead, fair organizers strive to produce a backdrop that allows us to come and be ourselves. We can bring the products of our hands, gardens and meadows to share with our neighbors. We can forget our troubles for a few hours while listening to Gretchen Wilson or Huey Lewis and the News under a summer sky. We can amble down exhibit building aisles and ponder whether mink oil really would give five more years of life to that old leather jacket. We can push forward an unwary relative when the featured hypnotist asks for volunteers from the audience.
So many of life's dramas and triumphs are played out in miniature at the fair. Delight: viewing the perfection in the petals of a perfectly symmetrical dahlia at the Floral Building. Heartache: bumping into the FFA student who got too attached to the steer bound for market. Suspense: sizing up the chances that you can hit the target dead-on and win the giant stuffed panda. Resourcefulness: discovering which booths offer free, cold water when there's no money left for a soda. (No, we aren't going to tell you. Go forth and find them.)
All the usual foods and products and characters can be found at the fairgrounds this year, along with a few twists — a brand-new laser light show and the third-time-here Teen Zone.
In short, everything's in place for a fresh page in our collective scrapbook of memories. Turn the page, and we'll see you at the fair.
There's the man who can tell his grandkids about how Tammy Wynette beckoned him to join her onstage during the closing bars of “Stand By Your Man.” The parents who smiled at each other over the head of their toddler as he witnessed a sow delivering more than a dozen piglets at the Swine Barn.
A longtime exhibitor with drawers full of blue ribbons can think back several decades to her first-ever entry, a chicken rejected by judges because of tail smut (random black feathers, not a dirty posterior). A fervent vegetarian might recall what nudged him in that dietary direction: one too many corn dogs before boarding the Tilt-A-Whirl.
And regardless of how the relationship ultimately turned out, who can fail to soften at the memory of a first date at the fair?
This morning the Douglas County Fair opened its gates for another round of exhibits, activities and entertainment — all sure to figure in new stories to be told in years ahead.
Our fair isn't Seattle's Bumbershoot nor Los Angeles' Hollywood Bowl. Sure, we love visitors to see what a great fair we can put together, but the point isn't to create a regional signature event that draws the masses.
Instead, fair organizers strive to produce a backdrop that allows us to come and be ourselves. We can bring the products of our hands, gardens and meadows to share with our neighbors. We can forget our troubles for a few hours while listening to Gretchen Wilson or Huey Lewis and the News under a summer sky. We can amble down exhibit building aisles and ponder whether mink oil really would give five more years of life to that old leather jacket. We can push forward an unwary relative when the featured hypnotist asks for volunteers from the audience.
So many of life's dramas and triumphs are played out in miniature at the fair. Delight: viewing the perfection in the petals of a perfectly symmetrical dahlia at the Floral Building. Heartache: bumping into the FFA student who got too attached to the steer bound for market. Suspense: sizing up the chances that you can hit the target dead-on and win the giant stuffed panda. Resourcefulness: discovering which booths offer free, cold water when there's no money left for a soda. (No, we aren't going to tell you. Go forth and find them.)
All the usual foods and products and characters can be found at the fairgrounds this year, along with a few twists — a brand-new laser light show and the third-time-here Teen Zone.
In short, everything's in place for a fresh page in our collective scrapbook of memories. Turn the page, and we'll see you at the fair.


News
Opinion












