The Midwest, Part 2

Michael's parents have an apartment on the top floor of a building that overlooks the Mississippi River. One night, Michael's dad said that if he stands at the window, he can see almost all of the places that have mattered to him over the course of his life. And he wasn't kidding. This is a family that is deeply tied, over generations, to a community.

Sometimes it seems like everyone knows everyone, and this six-degrees-of-separation quality cracks me up. Here's a version of a typical conversation when we visit Michael's family:

Family member: Do you know Peggy O'Flaherty?
Michael: No, but her brother Seamus was in my class.
Family member: Oh! Seamus married Maureen Flynn, and did you know that Maureen's aunt, Maeve, went to college with me?
Michael: I know Maeve. Her cousin, Patrick, and I were altar boys together.

But it's not just about knowing the neighbors. Tradition is at the heart of this culture. Some of those traditions are pretty funny, most notably the annual trip to the Minnesota State Fair. You should have heard Michael's dad wax poetic about his teenage years at the fair. Michael has his memories, too. So far be it from us to deny Blue and Green a chance to participate in this family custom.

When I was growing up in Michigan, I don't remember the state fair being any big deal. I think I went once, ate some junk food, rode some rides. But it wasn't a BIG THING that made me feel connected to my fellow state residents or turned into a ongoing family story. For Michael, though, it's different. When he talks about the fair, his eyes get this faraway look, as if he can taste a bucket of mini doughnuts in his memory.

Before we went, my friend, Sarah, gave me some advice: 1) Bring lots of money; 2) Bring lots of patience; and 3) Bring closed-toe shoes. "Closed-toe shoes?" I asked. "Yes," she answered. "For walking in the barns." I must have looked blankly, because she elaborated. "Poop," she said. "Poop is everywhere."

Well, isn't that fabulous? That's the kind of thing that keeps a person going back year after year. In the end, I did wear appropriate footwear, but we didn't even make it to the barns. We got stuck in the vast snack area. Streets and streets and streets full of food. And there were people dressed up as food! We were just minding our own business, and a guy walked by dressed as a giant ear of corn. Okey Dokey. I suppose it's difficult to pass up the opportunity to wear a good costume.

It was in this food extravaganza that I came to really understand the fair. Here is a place where the uncool becomes cool, where gluttony is celebrated rather than scorned, where you don't have to feel shame about your extra roomy rainbow stretch pants.



And of course, at the fair, even little men get to carry big sticks. Every imaginable food option seemed to be on a stick. It was a joke, but then again, not really a joke. You could get waffles on a stick:



Or spaghetti on a stick:



Or, if you're feeling hip and urban, you can order Puff Daddy on a stick:



Actually, what amuses me about the picture above is the small print in the lower left hand corner. It says, "Sausages made by special women." I love that! How do you get to be a special woman? Sign me up!

But what I enjoyed most about the food section wasn't for sale. Deep in the Dairy Barn, just past the House of Cheese, was a special revolving, glass-encased show room. Inside was the likeness of Princess Kay of the Milky Way. "Who?" you might be asking. "Is it another Barbie?" Nope. Princess Kay is the winner of a special Minnesota pageant. Every year, young maidens from across the state compete to become county dairy princesses. The lucky local winners then vie to become Princess Kay. They are judged on their communication skills, their personality and enthusiasm, and their knowledge of the dairy industry. Moo!

Don't get me wrong -- this is serious business. The St. Paul Pioneer Press claims that Princess Kay has "the equivalent of Queen Elizabeth's role as the physical embodiment of the British Empire." Well, then. If she's so important, why not carve a sculpture of her head out of a 90 pound block of butter?



And you know what's funny? Guess what Princess Kay gets as a reward for all her efforts? Do you think it's money? Scholarships? A new car? Nope. At the end of the fair, she gets to take the butter sculpture home (and presumably, she can butter her toast with that all year long).

When we arrived back at our house after our week in the Midwest, I sat down with Blue and asked him what his favorite part of the trip was. When he answered, he didn't mention the baseball game we went to, or our visit to the science museum. Instead, he said, "I liked the guy in the corn suit." Huh. Maybe on some deep, subconscious level, Blue is already part of the larger tradition. He might be a west coast boy, but Minnesota appears to be in his blood.