My name is Lydia Yost. I am a Junior at St Peter high school. My favorite type of writing to do is short story. Most of my stories are based on emotions and real things that happened in my life. I love bringing my emotions into a characters world. In this piece I wrote about how I feel about the fair. County and state fairs are what I look forward to and prepare for all year. Fair to me is a lifestyle not just something I participate in. I really feel that the fair is my home
what the fair means to me
By Lydia Yost
Fair, it's the place where i grew up, it's the place where i get to see friends i never see anywhere else, a place where all my hard work in the hot barn all summer pays off, it's a place where i can meet new people, it's a place where i grow and learn, it's a place where food is expensive but so good, it’s a place where ice cream is a healthy treat, it's a place where i can escape from reality, it's full of colors, sounds, and smells that bring so many memories with it
Fair, the constant whir of motors and screams of people on rides, the moos of the cows as people walk past, the cries and laughs of children, the ear piercingly loud voices of the announcers over the loudspeakers, the hum music coming from multiple stages, the sizzle of burgers on the grill in the of the 4H food stand, the buzz of conversations, the slurp of straws downing a shake or lemonade, the squeal of wheels of wagons and strollers passing by, the beller of sheep as the kids try to pet them, the swoosh of people throwing away perfectly good corn on the cob, the thud of bean bags being played by 4Her’s playing to pass the time,
Fair, the smell of cotton candy, of pine shavings in the show arena, of warm mini donuts from timmy’s donuts, of poop from the show animals, of pungent gasoline from the rides and generators keeping things cool, of ice cream behind the counter in the dairy building, of sweet hay from the livestock barns, of burning hot tar under your feet, of greasy footlong pronto pups, of murky water from the fish pond, of suffocating dust at the horse shows, of the stuffy coliseum that has probably never been clean, of cinnamon rolls, of funnel cakes, of the dreaded stench bathrooms on every block, of wood chips used for bedding in the cattle barns, of the fog machine in the haunted house, of sweet martha's cookies, of the horrible garbages on every corner,
Fair, where is wish i was right now in the barns taking a nap on the fresh warm hay with my sheep or fussing with my horse’s soft, conditioned mane for the show the next day, i wish i was soaked to the bone itchy hair and sudds dripping down my arms after washing six sheep, three cows and still had to wash my horse my pants clinging to my legs and nowhere to wipe my wet glasses on my soaked cut off tank top, i wish i was waiting in line for to sheep show to start stroking my lambs soft freshly shaved head as she stood trembling nervously beside me, i wish i was in the dairy barn serving ice cream shakes while freezing my hands off and laughing with my friends and family, i wish i was laying in a rickety old three stacked bunk bed in the hot crowded 4H building dorms the voices of hundreds of girls getting ready for bed creating a rhythm in my head after an exhausting day of answering the dumbest questions from fair goers, taking multiple naps in a lawn chair that i feared was going to snap on me everytime i moved, walking my giddy sheep two blocks from the barn to give her exercise people pointing and stopping me the whole way asking her name and if they could pet her each time a kids face lighting up as she nibbled lightly on there fingers
Fair, when its over im glad its done, the hot hours in the barn, the long walks to get food, the many people moving way to slow and talking way to much, good riddance, my bag packed next to pile of livestock equipment, i think back on the week and i wouldn’t change anything, i would do it again, i will do it again, it's what i look forward to every year, what i work for everyday, its my life, it’s my home