Off To The Fair

(photo by Kermit Moore)

I am a big fan of traditions. Not just of big holiday traditions like serving turkey at Thanksgiving (along with cornbread dressing and scalloped oysters and homemade rolls and a little cranberry sauce to cut the carbohydrates), hiding Easter baskets for my kids, and crafting handmade Valentines for my darlings on Valentine's Day. I also love having traditions for ordinary occasions: hanging begonias on the front porch each spring (because they grow best in filtered sunlight), wearing the delicate white and silver enamel bracelet that belonged to my grandmother at least twice a summer, taking my son to lunch each Friday during the school year when he has a half day.

I grew up in the south and midwest where fairs were--and still are--a big deal. I hate to let a harvest season go by without hieing myself (and dragging my family) to at least one agricultural fair. It's not that I've ever grown anything worth a squirt, except for flowers and a few summer tomatoes. I make a decent pie, but am clueless at canning. And the idea of growing livestock...let's just say that I leave that to the professionals and talented amateurs. But I admire everything about a fair. I admire the dedication of the people who grow our food, and the crafters and quilters who practice their arts and are brave enough to have their efforts judged by their peers. I even admire the people who pack themselves into trucks and r.v.s every summer and fall and man the game booths, put up the rides, and come up with things like fried lemonade and a wide variety of foods that can be served on a stick.

Every summer since 2006 my little family has spent at least one afternoon and evening at the DuQuoin State Fair in Southern Illinois. (The bigger state fair is up in Springfield.) I anticipate it as keenly as the arrival of the first hummingbird in my garden each May--though the arrival of the fair means that the hummingbirds won't be around for very much longer. This year we even attended the fair on opening day, accompanied by my daughter's best friend and her fiancé (they also joined us each of the past three years, before their engagement), and our dear friend Kermit Moore, who visited from Virginia. That's his photo of the grandstand up top, and he generously let me use some more of his wonderful photos since I only took my phone with me this year. (His other photos are credited.)

Here at the Handbasket, I have blogs from 2008 and 2012 about the fair, with more pictures. Last year I even went to the sideshow and volunteered to get myself sawed in half. It was harrowing, quite uncomfortable and all kinds of crazy fun. Oh! And I also did a piece on fair food over at Life In A Skillet last year, with tons of photos.

Here's a bit of what the fair looked like this year:

(photo by Laura)

(photo by Laura)

(photo by Kermit Moore)

(photo by Kermit Moore)

(photo by Laura)

(photo by Laura)

Tell me about your traditions--big or small. What's the one you're looking most forward to, right this very minute?

In Which I Visit a Sideshow and Find Myself Onstage

Being a kid who was attracted to the unusual, the disturbing, the alien, and otherness, I always wanted to visit a sideshow, but I was discouraged from it by my folks and, later, friends. Mostly on the grounds that it was a rip-off. But, finally, at my advanced age of *ahem*, I decided that I am at last the mistress of my own purse and psyche and shelled out the two bucks for a peek inside.

What did I see? Hey, that wouldn't be fair, now would it? Carnival sideshows are supposed to remain a mystery. You'll just have to find out for yourself, or forever wonder. I will tell you that, had I been ten years old, I would have been delighted. At thirteen, I would have been grossed out. At thirty, probably scornful. As I'm back at the delightable age, I was pretty entertained. If you want a hint about what it's like, let's just say that taxidermy is apparently a very important art form in the carnival world. And, sometimes, things get misspelled. As in Chupacabra for capybara.


Now to tell you about my real adventure...Pinckney, the kids, and I were visiting Illinois' DuQuoin State Fair when I stumbled upon a sideshow called the Strange Museum. Okay, stumbled upon isn't quite the best phrase. They had quite a big, gorgeous tent surrounded by colorful, fascinating images. Of course, it would be a stretch to connect what was on the pictures to what was going on inside. No matter. Did my husband and kids join me in paying the $2 to get into the show? No. The kids had wandered off and Pinckney had no interest. I think the notion made him too sad. I understood.

One of the best parts: As I paid my two bucks, the woman said, "Hurry in. The show's about to start." After swooning slightly, I went in alone and found myself surrounded by teenagers--high school boys with girlfriends, mostly. I felt very old. Slightly superior, but, still, old.

"The show" was in the back of the tent. I was intrigued. A most miraculous woman stood onstage, chatting with the crowd. Here's a quote from one of the photo cards she later gave me:

Katya Kadavera

Tattoed from head to toe. Over 50 hours of ink by Katzen the Tigress. Tattoos include large cat girl portraits and a very large leopard on her back. Ears pointed. Subdermal implants. Tongue split. Magnetic implants.

Chains, rope, locks, hancuffs can't hold her. Licks a flaming torch like an ice cream cone. Jumps on broken glass. Painproof, mysterious. SomethingDangerous [sic]

The show had already started. While keeping up a playful rapport the teenage crowd, Katya was doing interesting things with electricity and light bulbs. Then she started eating fire. Now *that* was cool. She went about it very deftly. I meant to ask her later how it was done, but I was...distracted.

Her last illusion involved a long, coffin-like box, and blades. Many blades. "Who is brave enough to get into the box? You?" She pointed to a teenage girl, who squealed and hid behind the guy holding her hand. Lots of girls squealed. It cracked me up. A teenage boy volunteered, but Katya said it was better if a girl or child under 5' 7" participated. No one stepped forward.

You know what comes next, don't you? Some crazy, fifty year-old woman who had no business getting in anybody's box raised her hand. "I will!"

People stared. At me. I was positively giddy as I walked through the crowd. I felt like I was being crowned prom queen. No, seriously. It was like I was having a psychotic, surreal episode. I floated onto the stage. Was there applause? I heard it, but I suspect it was only in my head.

After an embarrassing few moments during which there was much discussion about where to put my purse (of course there was), Katya flung open the coffin/box, and I climbed inside. She asked the crowd to talk amongst themselves while she gave me instructions.

No! I can't tell you what instructions she gave me. That wouldn't be fair, now, would it?

Let's just say that there's a reason that children and slender young women are best-suited for the box. It is NOT made for fifty year-old women who have recently put on a few perimenopausal pounds. Nope.

Katya shut up the box, and the blades began raining down upon me. I could hear Katya talking to the crowd. I even threw in a few squeals and mewls for dramatic effect. The blades kept coming. She had me stick my hand out of the top of the box. I waved it. She had me hold onto the handle of one of the blades. I started perspiring. I suddenly realized that I WAS IN A FREAKING COFFIN. My heart started beating faster--yeah, that doesn't happen just in fiction. I had a brief, terrifying fantasy about there being a natural disaster or armed attack while I was there in the box. I would be left there, unable to free myself. Pinckney was waiting outside, and he had no idea what I was doing. If the crowd and Katya fled, he would think I went with them. He wouldn't know I was in the box. I would die in there--probably of terror. The final, horrifying act in the show.

"Um, it's really hot in here," I said. "Really hot."

"You okay?" Katya whispered.

"I guess," I said. I was such a liar. My panic was trumped by my desire to follow through with what I'd gotten myself into. I didn't want to let her down. Plus, this was my big star turn!

In my pocket, my phone vibrated.

Katya invited the crowd to pay a dollar to come up and look inside the box to see how it was done. When I heard that, I nearly screamed. I knew I had about thirty more seconds left in my mental reserve before I would lose my mind. Seriously. I thought I was going to die.

"I need to get out," I said. I repeated it. Louder.

"Anyone?" she said.

One guy stomped onto the stage. "Hey, that looks pretty tight in there," he said, leaning down, looking at me. I couldn't see his face for reasons I can't share.

"It is," I said. (If I were a different sort of writer it would've been, "It is," I whined in fear.") I took heart because, if at least one person had paid, I would be out soon. Maybe.

The guy left the stage.

"Ready?" she said. To me? The crowd? I wasn't sure.

I wanted to take those blades she'd put in and fling them back out. But I couldn't. It can't be done from inside the box. No, it cannot be done. At least not by a panicking middle-aged woman who is about to lose her mind.

When Katya started taking the blades out, I almost wept. I went from panic to elation in about three seconds. I would live, dear Reader.

She opened the box. "Sorry about your hair," she said.

My hair? Who was thinking about hair? Not I. I was flush with triumph, and ready for my return to the crowd. But the crowd--which had been about 15 people strong--was...gone. The only other person left in the tent was a guy who worked there.

"Hm. That's never happened before," Katya said.

All I could do was laugh. It was as though the whole thing had never happened at all. I'd never been in the box, had never walked through the crowd toward my glorious moment onstage.

Katya was very nice, and seemed surprised when I told her that I'd always wanted to be sawed apart in a box. She asked if I wanted to stay around for the next show, God bless her.

Since there was no one in the tent, I asked if I could run out and get my camera from my husband who was waiting, and she said "sure." Pinckney, who had had no idea of my adventure had apparently been the one texting me, ready to leave the fair. I gushed something about being in the box, grabbed the camera, and went back inside to take pics.

Katya is an artist, illusionist, and very interesting person. I wish I could've spent more time talking to her. In my haste, I wasn't able to get many good photos, but I do like this one of her very much.

Thank you, Katya! It was a thrill. Really and truly a thrill.

Read more about my state fair adventures at my bestie Maggie Caldwell's blog, Life In A Skillet. There, I talk about the food, amazing food.

Learn more about Katya at SomethingDangerous.com