An exhibit in belonging: fair alights on county

The sun is shining, the rides are moving, the cows are lowing.

The Grays Harbor County Fair is upon us once more.

I walked in on a Wednesday afternoon to the fairgrounds outside of Elma to a parking lot mostly full already of cars from all over, from the newest to the humblest. The first day of the fair, Wednesday night already looked swinging.

Let the lights, the exhibits, the vendors, the attractions speak to you: all and sundry; if you have a pulse, you belong here.

Michael S. Lockett / The Daily World Riders enjoy a mini roller coaster at the county fair.

Walk in and there are the vendors, folks in tents from all over selling anything you can imagine at a fair, and a few things you can’t. Sundresses. T-shirts. A thousand shades of camo, from American woodland to stuff even I don’t recognize. Glasses. Cell phone coverage. A car. Stanley cups. Model cars. An umbrella. Do we do umbrellas here in the Harbor?

Duck into one of the exhibit halls to get out of the sun and see what the youngins have offered up for judgment this year. This barn, it’s models — everything from Warhammer miniatures to model airplanes to Legos. A Corsair — did I mention the Corsair will always have my heart? When it comes to WWII aircraft, damn the Mustang, it’ll always be the F4U for me, the glorious bent-winged bird in its screaming, long-clawed glory. Carrier aviation forever, up Marine Corps.

Michael S. Lockett / The Daily World The F4U Corsair, center, is the finest fighter of World War II.

Out and back into the sun, ambling by a stand full of hats with all the Pokemon I know and a few I don’t before ducking into another barn, gazing upon the serried rows of vegetables with their respective granges labeled before them. Narrow-necked vases of lavender, Mason jars of preserves, I think. I’m certainly butting up against my knowledge of things country when I look at the vegetables on display here.

Back into the sun once more, making my way toward the food, the heart of any good fair. I see a man wearing three different styles of camouflage in a fashion offense so swift and jarring that I mentally salute him. A veritable visual hazard.

Over near a dessert tent, Webelos — if that’s what they’re still called, the middle school-aged ones between Cub Scouts and actual Boy Scout, gods alone know how long it’s been since I was in the Boy Scouts — in their uniform shirts and pants.

Michael S. Lockett / The Daily World A cow refuses to be told and must be budged.

A thousand shades of blue jeans, more shades of blue than a year of sailing the ocean. Band T-shirts I haven’t thought about in more than a decade. Hats in all manner of plaid. Belt buckles, tucked in shirts, a spattering of political T-shirts in the direction you might reckon. USA shirts and hats and belts. Orange spray tans. A whole lot of cut off T-shirts.

Eyes of every kind from sharp to smiling.

I wander by the aid station, chatting with fire department folks that I know from working on other stories. The path is briefly blocked by gates as farm kids start bringing cows four at a time across the way to the outdoor arena, the smell of fresh cow crap adding a most-unasked-for note to the olfactory experience of the fair.

Michael S. Lockett / The Daily World Some sort of livestock gazes knowingly.

Meandering over to the beer garden now, leaning on a fence in a timeless pastime as the band readies up on the main music stage now. Watching the bleachers fill up as the sun touches the treetops, plunging us into the shade in a matter of minutes. The band strikes up, playing generically enjoyable country alongside countrified versions of top-40 hits, to a relaxed and entertained crowd, music floating over the rides and the food booths. Kids with buzz cuts, mullets, Mohawks out with their parents for a weeknight at the fair.

Now over to the rides, stepping over the power cable covers laid everywhere, powering the lights and sounds of these rides, assembled in place. Mini roller coasters, a Ferris wheel, and a handful of machines to spin riders through one, two, and three separate axes, adorned in reflective paint and lights flashing in sequence.

Hats for teenagers sure have come along a long way since I was young, in the distant past.

Michael S. Lockett / The Daily World A competitor at an equestrian event readies up at the indoor arena at the county fair.

Families traversing the browned grass as the sun sets, long yawns speaking to the length of the day. Sharpshooting booth with the cultural icons of the past two decades, SpongeBob and Pikachu. Also, lots of Christmas stuff for reasons that makes limited sense at best to me. The sound of the band still floating over everything, bouncing off some of the pop hits of the last 50 years, Michael Jackson and Bruno Mars.

I walk over to another part of the fair now, into the indoor hall, with its many booths, now vacant as the time slides past 9 p.m. or so. Army recruiters, I note with disdain — it should be Marines, those best beloved of the gods. A Democrat campaign table, I note with surprise — a counterbalance to a similar Republican area closer to the front gate, in a better spot.

History. Salmon. Public health. Conservation. Lots of informational or business vendors.

Michael S. Lockett / The Daily World Riders spin and spin and spin.

Out back and around, there’s a corral filled with kids atop horses, their purpose unknown, the occasional voice over the speaker apparently making more sense to them than to me. In the indoor arena, riders atop horses canter amidst the smell of freshly turned earth, rounding a trio of barrels at speed for an apparent competition whose purpose and victory conditions evade me.

Into the photo section! I love the photo section.

One of these kids sure likes shooting aircraft and a mini Australian Shepherd, which I sure can respect. Otherwise have wildlife — birds, moose, cows, trees, some in good detail, some in great detail.

There’s petunias that make me wish mine would grow half as well. Dozens of quilts. Some artists I think I recognize from the last year, across all aspects of human artistic endeavor. Then back out into the gathering dark.

A newborn cow (small) capers on shaky legs in front of its mother (larger). (Michael S. Lockett / The Daily World)

The garden is empty.

The kids zone is deflated.

The sun is setting.

But it’s not dark yet. And the fair is bright and here you all can be. Everyone is relaxed, apparent from a few tough-guy wannabes in their Grunt Style T-shirts. The crowds are thinning out, food vendors fiddling on their phones, tables empty and lines gone, but there’s still lights on and doors open. I follow the sound of the cows.

Inside the cow barn, the pens are full — doubly occupied, in some cases, as I watch a freshly calved newborn capering on shaky legs in front of its mother, traces of the birth still adorning it. Kids hang out with the cows set between stalls, clustering in their age groups, keeping an eye on the livestock.

In another barn, I see a variety of critters: this is the reptile corner, hosting everything from axolotls to great horned lizards to a variety of snakes and other small, scaly things. Across the barn, an emu gives everyone the evil eye, pecking at my fingers in a halfhearted sort of way after I try to shoot a photo through the wire around its enclosure. This is a bird that remembers in its heart what it was to be a dinosaur, master of its domain, when mammals were but hairy little things scurrying around underfoot. It remembers this, and it resents us.

Michael S. Lockett / The Daily World A dinosaur gazes upon the world with malice.

A peacock keeps it company in the next stall, looking leerily at me. Around the rest of the barn lie rams and goats and ox and other animals whose name I no longer remember from grade school.

I wonder out of the fairgrounds at nearly 10, people making their way hand-in-hand or carrying sleeping children over shoulders, faces aglow with contentment.

The fair is here, and you belong there.

Contact Senior Reporter Michael S. Lockett at 757-621-1197 or michael.lockett@thedailyworld.com.