Farmington – The clock said nearly 3:30 p.m. as we anxiously awaited the arrival home of my dad from his job at G.H. Bass. It was mid-September, and the long-awaited Farmington Fair was in full swing.

It was Tuesday afternoon. Every year, during the 1950s and for some years after that, the Wilton schools were closed during the Wednesday of fair week so youngsters could spend the day there. My mom, a very practical woman, decided her children would do best to go to the fair on Tuesday night, stay up as long as we could stand it, then have all day on Wednesday to sleep in and recuperate. This was a tradition in my family as we grew up during the 1950s and ’60s.

Fair week seemed much colder 50 years ago. We were bundled up in mittens and hats, boots and our winter coats. The paths weren’t paved so if it had rained, we’d be walking through mud. When my dad returned from work, we knew it was soon time to go to the fair.

During my childhood, the fair was a huge event. And saving up for that one day was a top priority. We saved our 25-cent allowances for weeks before the fair. And our grandfather always made a generous donation to our night of fun. For $5, we spent a delightful night playing ring toss – at 25-cents a try, riding the Merry-Go-Round, eating 25-cent nut-covered ice cream and sticky cotton candy, screaming as we twirled in the Tilt-A-Whirl or headed straight toward the ground in the Bullet, and being amazed at the view of the entire fairgrounds from atop the Ferris Wheel.

We also watched the adults betting dimes and nickels at the booth usually near the entrance to the exhibition hall.

I loved the exhibition hall, even at the age of five or six, as I wandered in awe, looking at the huge pumpkins and bright red apples, and the five or six Grange agricultural exhibits.

The Republicans held forth in a prime spot on the bottom floor of the hall, handing out political brochures and apples. If the Democrats had a booth at all, it was relegated to an off-the-beaten-path location, usually down by the grandstand.

Charitable groups, such as the Sunshine Society, in which my grandmother was a member for many years, offered candy, towels and odds and ends.

A particular love of mine were the many tables of tiny knick-knacks that were just the right price. I weighed my coins carefully, making sure I had enough money for that last ice cream or candy.

Each year for several years during my childhood, I carefully studied all the glass animal knick-knacks, invariably made in Japan, to choose just the right one.

Even now, I still treasure my 3-inch Ferdinand the Bull and Swanny the Swan. I wasn’t particularly creative with names, now that I think about it.

My mom whisked us quickly by the “girlie” show, which was then on the way to the car tent. As a teen, my best friend and I decided to try to find out what these shows were all about, so we snuck under the tent. Just as we were about to get a glimpse of what was going on, a bouncer grabbed us and threw us out. But it was sure fun trying!

A few years later, following the advent of the women’s equality movement and protests by UMF students, the strip show was removed from the fair.

Those of us of a certain age remember what is now the Harrison Starbird building as the car tent. There, the men in the families could look over the newest Nash or Buick or Ford, and make a deal right on the spot.

Some of the animal barns are gone now, like those that were once where the farm implement historical museum is located. Back then, they were filled with hundreds of Guernseys, Jerseys, Ayrshires, and Holsteins, as well as gorgeous draft horses, some for show, others for pulling. There were lots of pigs and sheep, too.

This year, although there are still some working farms that bring their animals, often many are “gentleman/woman” farmers who are trying to keep a breed going.

Fifty years ago, the fairgoer would never see the Indian Brahman breed cattle or a llama, or lop-eared rabbits or goats. There were no ATV pulls – only horses and oxen struggled to haul the concrete blocks.

When I was older, my youngest sister and I decided to try to find out what all the excitement was about at the horse races. We each bet $2 on two different horses, we each lost, and that was the end of our betting careers. Now, I just love looking at the beautiful animals.

History, which we lived in the 1950s, is now a major portion of all exhibit areas. The maple sap house, the farm implement museum, the area historical society exhibits, and most recently, the Little Red Schoolhouse have overtaken animal barns and farm implement dealers.

The exhibition hall’s focus has changed dramatically, too, reflecting the decline of real, working farms. Only one Grange has an agricultural exhibit this year, and about half-dozen have craft exhibits.

Replacing the Grange agricultural exhibits are a lot of individuals who have pride in their home gardens or small flock of chickens. The center aisle of the first floor is chock full of family farm displays, all showing great creativity, rows of canned goods and fresh vegetables all lovingly grown, and the love of their land. The sides are filled with individual small businesses selling jams and jellies and ice cream, and new organizations trying to raise money for various causes.

Also new since the ’50s is a popular photo exhibit, replacing many of the seamstresses, crocheters and knitters whose quilts and baby sweaters and mittens are still protected under the glass cases.

Though much as changed since the ’50s, some things have remained the same.

When the air starts to chill and the leaves begin turning, the garden growing season is ending. The pride many take in celebrating the land, the farm animals and the fresh, homegrown vegetables continues.

It’s not the $2 someone might win for earning a blue ribbon for the best buttercup squash or plate of tomatoes.

The Farmington Fair is a chance to see friends and acquaintances that may not have been seen since the previous year. It’s also a way to stay true to our rural roots. While most of us don’t support ourselves by working a farm any longer, farming is an ideal, a way to keep connected with the land. The fair gives us a chance to celebrate the end of another growing season and to realize what real food is.

Although I’ve passed the half-century mark, and I’ve attended almost every fair since I was 2-years old, I still anxiously await the opening day of fair. I’m excited the night before, and worn out when I get home from a full day of fairgoing. It’s fun, it puts me in touch with the agricultural community, and I couldn’t imagine a September without it.