It's a Fair Life

And A Welcome to Belonging

Our Crew at The Fair

Twenty-seven years ago when Shawn and I were still novices at this whole “being in love” thing, before we’d sealed it all with a ceremony and rings, he told me about a family legacy that had been passed down from his grandparents to his parents and would be perhaps one day be passed down to him, and the simple title for it was:

The Fair.

“Um, excuse me?” I asked, confused.

The only fair I had experienced growing up was The Miami County Fair in the dusty outskirts of Troy, Ohio. I remember a small patch of grimy carnival rides and a dozen or so smelly 4-H pens with pigs and chickens. My friends and I spent all our allowance at the stretch of gaudy game stalls with fluorescent bears hanging by their plastic collars from plywood walls. We barely managed to sink balls through the basketball nets or strike the little red target 10 feet away from our stationary water pistols. Our subpar skills won us the consolation prizes of stuffed dolphins the size of our hands and thin metal keychains with neon disco ball bobbles.

In all, the experience was underwhelming.

But the way my beloved boyfriend was standing before me telling me with sheepish delight about The Fair made me wonder if what he was referring to was something all together different.

“It happens every September,” he continued. “My family has a concessions stand for 10 days at The Great Frederick Fair in Maryland. We sell soft pretzels and ham and cheese sandwiches and baked goods. My grandparents started it years ago. It’s actually really fun. I’ve been going there every year since I was a baby.” He paused, gathering courage it seemed. “I’m working there this weekend, if you want to come visit.”

Wait one second. Was I dating a carnie?

Had I somehow missed out on this fairly (excuse the pun) significant detail over the course of our almost year together?

He was cute and kind enough for me to overlook this slightly unsettling divulgence, but I didn’t end up going to visit him at the fair that year. I don’t remember what my excuse was, but I assume it was studying for a test or prior plans. But I do remember being unimpressed with the idea. I wasn’t the fair-going kind of girl. I loved this boy, but maybe this whole “The Fair” thing wasn’t a “we” thing.

Maybe it could just be a “he” thing.

Then I went and married that brown-eyed boy.

The first year of our marriage I was finally baptized into The Fair Life, and it was nothing like the mediocre memories I had of my hometown fair. This was a big to-do with rows upon rows of food vendors and carnival rides (still grimy, I’m afraid) and massive barns housing every farm animal imaginable from rabbits to cows to alpacas.

But it wasn’t the fairgrounds themselves that made “The Fair” so mesmerizing.

When I first walked up to his family’s massive white concessions tent, I couldn’t see the front edges because they were packed with customers buying pounds worth of deli ham and grocery sacks full of whoopie pies. There was banter and laughter and shouts of “We’re out of sandwiches up here!” among the dozen or so staff, and my new father-in-law stood behind a sneeze guard rolling pretzels, shouting “Get your fresh hot soft pretzels, here!” with true carnie fervor. It was chaos and charisma and I was simultaneously fascinated by it and terrified of it.

The staff under the tent was made up of family and family friends, some who I’d briefly met at my bridal shower or at the wedding. But I was greeted warmly by everyone there, then handed an apron, and put to work amidst the hubbub.

I was timid in those early years of our marriage, but there wasn’t another timid soul among that crowd. They were all hustle and hard work and shouting, “Next customer, please!” But they joked and laughed their way through the long hours. And by the end of the first day, I understood why my husband had spoken with such delight about this place.

It felt like belonging.

I admit that it took me many years to feel like I belonged there. I enjoyed my time at the fair each year, bringing each of our babies as infants, then toddlers, and onwards till they were running registers and rolling pretzels themselves. But it always felt like Shawn’s family’s legacy, not mine. That wasn’t because I wasn’t welcomed into the tent with open arms. I always was. I just didn’t know how to receive the welcome for many years. It didn’t feel like it belonged to me.

Somewhere along the line, I found a way to receive it. I think I began to see that I had something to offer, not necessarily in my talent but more in my presence. I can’t pinpoint a certain moment that the switch happened, but one year I arrived and realized I was finally inside the tent, not just with my body but with my spirit, too.

I belonged there.

Shawn’s parents handed “The Fair” off to us a few years ago. And Shawn also acquired another concession location for us at The Maryland State Fair, which now means that the greater part of each August and September we spend long, body-aching days selling soft pretzels and other PA Dutch foods to the good people of the state of Maryland. Some years we look forward to the work (and the money.) Some years it feels like the last thing we have the strength to do. But each year we do it. And each year at the end of it, we’re grateful for the opportunity.

We still run the stands with family and friends. Last year we welcomed in our son’s girlfriend and our daughter’s boyfriend to join us. And now when they walk in under the tent, I wonder if they feel the same fascination (and perhaps terror) that I felt all those years ago. But what I really want is for them to experience the joy of it: the laughter that rescues you when the ache in your feet makes you want to cry, the jokes exchanged between trays of hot pretzels and difficult customers, the spontaneous dance parties that break out during clean up.

I want them to feel the belonging and the welcome…and receive it.

Friends, where are the unexpected places of belonging that you have found in your life? How has it been easy or difficult to accept the welcome there?