An ode to the Minnesota State Fair
Tradition might be the thing that brings us to the Great Minnesota Get-Together. But it's the unpredictability of the fair that is truly good for the soul.
Much of life in 2024 is an exercise in maximizing convenience and minimizing the possibility of an unpleasant risk.
Money and privilege plays an outsized role in this, and people who have both are willing to pay to have the paths ahead of them smoothed out.
Social classes increasingly are sorted out at airports, schools and stadiums — just to name a few.
I find myself consciously rebelling against this sometimes, refusing to pay for added luxury or time even when I could.
In other moments, though, the pace our family moves collides with an obstacle of time or want, and we obliterate it with privilege.
Practice went late. Let’s just get takeout instead of making dinner.
We didn’t come to Target for toys. … OK, you can get one small thing. … That’s too big. … Fine, we’re in a hurry. Just put it in the cart and we can decide later.
Even when I can convince myself that these are conveniences we have earned, or that we are far from the most serious offenders when it comes to exercising privilege, it still doesn’t feel great to be participating in this social structure.
I was thinking about these ideas during the last week as I made three very different trips to the Minnesota State Fair.
Eight days ago, our family had planned to go the fair on the same day that I had a couple of interviews to conduct on the Minnesota Star Tribune stage.
The plan was that we would all leave in the morning and fit in fun around the things I needed to do for work.
We’ve pulled off such days in the past, but by the night before our slated trip it became obvious that it was going to be a bad idea this time. It was going to be the hottest day of the whole fair; we would have to wake up earlier than the kids were used to in the summer; and we would have a hard stop in the late afternoon because of a soccer practice.
Even though my wife had taken the day off work, we called an audible in the morning. I would go to the fair just for work, and we would go as a family a different day.
The kids were disappointed, but they understood. I trekked out there, arriving on a shuttle bus with about 30 minutes to spare before a Vikings podcast recording.
It was already hot and miserable outside, which somehow made me happy. It validated the choice we had made to skip the family trip that day.
But it also made me think about all the logistical hassles involved in getting to the fair and navigating the space, particularly on a hot day.
I left the fair almost as soon as my work was done, relieved to be on an air conditioned bus and away from all of the inconveniences.
The day after that, I returned to the fair for my two other scheduled appearances. The day was hot but not as much as the day before, when storms had rolled in long after I had left and carried out a lot of humidity along with them.
It was more crowded this time, and after my first on-stage interview I was tempted to stow away in the back room of the Star Tribune booth and just work until my next appearance started.
But I had about 90 minutes and a sudden urge for a skewer of big, fat bacon. I couldn’t remember exactly were the booth was that sold it, but I started off on a path that was both aimless and purposeful at once.
It was on that walk that an epiphany about the Minnesota State Fair took hold.
Earlier that day, I had read a Star Tribune review of comedian Nate Bargatze’s set at the fair. I had chuckled at this part:
“I think fairs are the last things we’ve got that government doesn’t know about,” he said, sporting a denim jacket over a brown shirt. “There are rides that were on the interstate an hour ago.”
As I walked around, ostensibly looking for bacon, that gained more meaning.
People love the fair for traditions and the things they look forward to doing or eating every year. But they also love it for all of its surprises, loose agendas and possibilities.
The fair is important in 2024 because we have so much structure and convenience in our lives — not to mention so many virtual and real walls built around us.
This a rare event that is decidedly inconvenient. It has a schedule but very few rules. Regardless of your privilege, you are going to stand in long lines for the things you want and get jammed up by other aimless walkers. And it doesn’t matter how tight your circle is most days. When you are at the fair, you are going to interact with a lot of people who aren’t like you (and yet are like you).
I wandered some more, stopping by to chat with WCCO Radio’s Jason DeRusha and another friend who happened to text to see if I was around.
Where is the bacon?
I kept looking, refusing to consult a map, jotting down notes.
There are people at the fair dressed to impress, but that definition is quite broad. Some people seem like they can’t wait to leave and others look like they want to stay forever.
I turned a corner, thinking I needed to head back to the Star Tribune booth, and there it was: the bacon. I made a quick order, sat down on an uncomfortable bench that felt so comfortable, and tried to savor each bite.
After the interview back at the stage was done, I lingered a little while longer and then headed to the shuttle bus. I didn’t really want to leave, but I did need to get back home.
One of the young attendants near the bus was playing a familiar song that seemed completely out of context. I made eye contact and started nodding to the sounds.
“Oh yeah, you like that Radiohead!” he said, excitedly.
“You know I do!” I shouted back as I climbed aboard.
Once seated, I looked back at my hastily typed-out notes.
The things I hate about the fair are the things I love about it.
On Sunday, our family made its rescheduled trip to the fair. I debated whether we still need a stroller given the ages of our kids (10, 7 and 4), but here’s the truth: You will never regret having a stroller at an event like the fair — even if it’s for nothing more than to hold drinks and bags — but you often will regret not having one.
Because the fair is open basically all day, we were in no rush to get there. Arriving around 3:45 p.m., my sense was that we would put in a few hours and do all the things we usually do, then get home around 7:30 in hopes of getting them adjusted to the much earlier bed times and wakeup times that awaited when school started.
But of course nothing is fast or efficient at the fair. Going to the bathroom meant standing in line. Then we were off to try to win prizes playing games on the midway, where time and money almost go too fast.
We played enough to win a decent-sized stuffed animal for each of our kids, but not before they deliberated agonizingly over their picks.
Next? Mini donuts, lemonade, a giant bucket of fries, all a distance apart and all requiring the navigation of a small but stubborn sit-and-stand stroller.
Then the Miracle of Birth building to see tiny animals, the milk booth and a trip inside the Butterfly House after a series of wrong turns. What time is it? Already 7:30 and we still haven’t even been on any rides at the “kidway”.
Maybe we can still leave by 8:30?
But I’m trying not to fight it, trying to just let things happen. Our youngest and oldest get on a ride that’s pretty simple for the older one and a bit of a scary thrill for the youngest, who just barely qualifies as 42 inches tall if his hair is counted.
Our middle child, less of a thrill-seeker, is feeling left out until she and her younger brother have a blast on the monster truck ride and bumper boats.
Should we try the Ferris wheel? Oh, the line is a mile long. Never mind. Back to use the rest of our tickets, but first another trip to the bathroom.
Our oldest picks an outside seat on a swinging ride that takes her up and down, around and around with great velocity. We’ve done a similar ride together at Mall of America, but this one is faster and she is by herself.
We can hear her screaming and see her smiling. She gets off, comes racing to the exit and shouts, “I feel so alive!”
It’s after 9 p.m., and the last booth we wanted to visit is already shut for the night. We start making our way to the exit, thinking maybe we will get some cookies along the way.
The lines are impossibly long, so instead we decide to keep crawling along. I can sense some disappointment, so I hastily hatch a plan and give our oldest daughter the last few dollars I have in hopes that she can buy some cookies from someone with an overflowing bucket.
In normal polite society, we do not send our daughter into a crowd of strangers to buy cookies. But this is the fair, and she returns in a matter of seconds with five discs of chocolatey goodness.
We get to the shuttle bus line after 9:30. All three kids crowd into the stroller and watched the first 30 minutes of “Air Bud” on my phone as we snake through a shuttle bus line that stretched far enough back that we could hear the music from the grandstand.
Multiple parents of much older kids give us smiles and nods. They’ve been here before, too.
As we take our seats on the bus around 10:10 p.m., fireworks start outside.
“Everything happens for a reason,” our oldest says to me as she watches out the window. “If the line had moved faster, we wouldn’t have seen the fireworks.”
My wife and I are exhausted. All three kids will fall asleep on the car ride home, but two of them will wake up upon arrival at the house after 11 p.m. and demand pizza. Nobody except our youngest will be asleep before midnight.
So much for getting acclimated to the harsh realities of school.
But that doesn’t matter right now. The bus pulls away just as the grand finale of the fireworks blasts off.
Nobody is complaining about long lines or their legs hurting. What seemed like inconvenience is all just part of the experience. We spent some money, but so did everyone else, and it didn’t feel like we were overdoing it.
Our middle child is exclaiming that she had a feeling there were going to be fireworks, and after she’s done with that she starts singing at the top of her lungs for the whole bus to hear.
“This is gonna be the best day of my life.”
At least until next time.