A dozen eggs fill a standard egg carton. My friend Jim Athearn tells me that an egg carton costs thirty-two cents to buy. If you wanted a reason to save your egg cartons, to pass a nice big stack of them on to your chicken-raising, egg-selling friends, now you have it.
These dozen posts about the fair fill but an infinitesium of the planet’s available computer memory. There’s no physical “carton” to contain these posts, unless you count what happens after downloading them onto a CD or some form of memory chip or device. These posts aren’t even dust in the wind…they’re just digits in a box somewhere, and who knows where that box is?
We’ll bookend todays post about the end days of the Fair with self-portraits.
In the Main Exhibit Hall, on the Very Last Day of the Fair, the Zinniabear’s straw hat has come through four days of display time with no ill effects but a layer of crowd-stirred dust. Zinniabear, however, underneath the hat, has not fared so well.
For well over sixty years at the Fair, the “Floral Arrangement in a Tea Cup” category has been a flower-arranger’s challenge. Many an Island pantry shelf has a “Tea Cups for the Fair” section.
Fresh and spectacular four days ago, this pied is fresh no longer. Good for compost, though.
The arrays of picnic tables are not so densely populated on the last afternoon, as mizzle begins.
Out on the carnie “midway” section, a very bored kiddie ride operator/ticket taker waits for the end of the Fair, now just hours away. Then it will be teardown time.
Behind the corn booth, there are no orts to be seen.
Over in the almost deserted Stock Barn, a lone chicken waits.
What’s that old proverb?
Not even grunting or oinking came from this massive, next-stall, somnolent porker.
Bookend Number Two.
And to dust we shall return.