Minnesota State Fair memories

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Mankind has invented some extraordinary things such as the Hoover Dam, space travel and that substance known as ShamWow.

One hugely spectacular spectacle is our state fairs, a wham-bam blowout that marks the end of summer.

My wife and I attended the Minnesota State Fair a few years ago. The most difficult part of the whole experience was finding the fairgrounds, which are in the wilderness of the city of St. Paul.

Assisting us was Mrs. Garmin, our digital pathfinder. Mrs. Garmin confidently guided us through the warren of breakneck freeways known as the Twin Cities until she confidently got us lost.

“Where are we?” asked my wife as she tightened her death grip on the steering wheel. Mrs. Garmin had taken us to a decidedly grungy-looking neighborhood.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “Mrs. Garmin seems confused. Maybe she’s getting senile.”

“I don’t care about that. Just push the button that says, ‘Get us the heck out of here.”

Eventually, by using a sextant and a compass, we were able to find the fairgrounds. Dumb luck landed us near an entrance that put us close to the Dairy Building, a venue I had wanted to visit. This is not just because I am a recovering dairy farmer; it was mainly because I wanted to see a certain something up close and in person, that uniquely Minnesotan phenomenon of carving butterheads.

Each year at the Minnesota State Fair, the Princess Kay of the Milky Way finalists have their likenesses carved in butter. It was wondrous to see the face of a young lady slowly emerging from a 90-pound block of butter. It was my first experience with congealed animal fat sculpting.

Just when I thought things couldn’t get more exciting, they did. We strolled a short distance and soon found ourselves at the International Bazaar.

It truly was international. My wife and I ate a Holy Land gyro sandwich and slurped Indonesian noodles as Ecuadorian musicians played. I watched Armenian folk dancers while my wife purchased a Chinese parasol. The saleslady wrote my wife’s name on the parasol in Chinese – or so she said. For all we know, the characters read “Eat at Joe’s.”

Just when I thought things couldn’t get better, they did. My wife (bless her heart) pointed and said, “Look, they have beer on a stick.”

So they did — except for it wasn’t really a stick. It was more of a paddle. The beer wasn’t battered and deep fried, but I was OK with that.

I was also OK with the fact that there were beer opportunities at practically every turn. It’s your own fault if you go thirsty at the Minnesota State Fair.

Ditto for going hungry. Helpful hint: Do not wear a white T-shirt when you attend the Minnesota State Fair. By the end of the day, the front of your shirt will be a virtual roadmap of all the food stands you’ve visited.

Just when I thought things couldn’t get more exciting, I caught sight of the Space Tower.

I had to ride the Space Tower, which is essentially an elevator that’s been turned inside out. The platform of the Space Tower slowly rotates as it rises, giving riders a repeating panoramic view of the area. “Look, there’s St. Paul. Now, there’s Minneapolis. Look, there’s St. Paul again.”

The fairgrounds were crowded; crossing the street made you feel like a minnow swimming upstream amidst a buffalo stampede. The simple act of walking became a contact sport. Some jostling was inevitable, but it was nonetheless jarring for a semi-hermit former farm boy from the lonesome prairie.

At one point, we passed an older couple who were having a heated argument. She would chatter in rapid-fire Spanish, and he would reply in unhurried Minnesotan English. I guess neither was willing to compromise and speak each other’s language.

My wife and I topped off our exciting day by visiting the Butterfly House. Call us wild and crazy.

It was fun to watch the people, especially the kids, watch the butterflies. A handout told a bit about the lepidopterans, that they normally lived in distant jungles and only spend a small portion of their existence as butterflies. During their brief sojourn, they were provided with such delectables as flowers and overripe bananas to gorge upon. None would live as a butterfly for more than a few days.

Late in the afternoon, as we motored homeward from the fair, it occurred to me that we had behaved like butterflies. We had flitted hither and yon, ate too much and simply lived in the moment.

In other words, we had a thoroughly enjoyable wham-bam end-of-summer blowout.

Jerry Nelson is a recovering dairy farmer from Volga, South Dakota. He and his wife, Julie, have two sons and live on the farm where Jerry’s great-grandfather homesteaded over 110 years ago. Feel free to email him at jerry.n@dairystar.com.