Some things are sacred

like chicken judging at the Itasca County Fair. Last week was the County Fair here, and Tom and I had the great fortune, for the second year in a row, to see the kids with their chickens.

If nothing else, the sight of farm kids, in white shirts, with good manners, proud to show off their livestock, can melt your heart.

I mean, how great is that?

There are still farm kids out there - kids who do chores before school, kids who decorate their horse stalls for the fair, kids who are proud of their chickens...

lest you think we live in an idyllic small town where all the kids act as if it is 1950...let me remind you of The Midway.

Hallelujah for The Midway of a County Fair. Just like they pump in oxygen at the casinos, they pump in phermones to the Midway. It is primal... the circling of boys and girls, looking but not looking, laughing with their friends, hoping to meet someone who doesn't go to their school that they can talk about when school starts in three weeks... except for the text messaging and the ass cleavage, the Midway too, is as it has always been.

And that's not even mentioning the carnies and the rides and games. Oh man, this too is as it always has been: creepy and rigged.

Speaking of casinos, Tom likes to stand behind the poker players and soak in the game. At the Midway, Tom stood behind a genial fella who was playing Clown Town.

Clown Town is not as bad as it sounds, well, okay, it's bad. At least it's not humans in clown makeup. It is an old shoddy game, with wooden, glass-encased boxes that hold seated clowns with chipped ceramic faces. The clowns are constantly stretching their legs in their little protected houses. The movement of legs moves the shit that surrounds them. Tokens and plastic American flag keychains and ceramic dogs dressed up as sexy waitresses or nurses. I mean really, that's worth a couple of bucks, isn't it? The deal is you drop your token, aim it, and if the clown's feet push just right, you win a prize, or more tokens. Addictive and not as easy as it seems.

I'm proud to say, no crappy knicknacks or keychains left Clown Town with us. Only bellies full of Itasca County corn and the memory of a smile from a llama came home with us that night.