The fair is a veritable smorgasbord.

Nothing puts me in summer mode quite like a trip to the county fair. I blame this on years of growing up in a small country town. Every summer, I would count down the days until I could walk around with my friends, see the cute guys I hadn't seen since school let out, and drink lemon shake-ups. I'd also make fun of the fair (and all of its unsavory characters) like I got paid to do it, but then spend seven straight nights there, anyway. Isn't being a conflicted, whiny teenager fun? Throw in a little demolition derby, ferris wheel riding, funnel cake, and karaoke competition and you have the makings of a perfect, Midwestern summer evening. I love state fairs, but there is something about the small-town feel of a county fair that takes me right back to my childhood.

Fortunately for me, Wheat and I have made it an annual tradition to go to the Marion County Fair every summer. This year, we walked the grounds of the fair, admiring the gorgeous colors and blinking lights, drooling over the smell of fried veggies and pastries, laughing at a piglet as it nearly escaped, and avoiding the carnies as they begged Wheat to "win the pretty lady a teddy bear." If only strangers were always so complimentary...

I settled on deep-fried green beans (yes, dipped in ranch - I have a soul) and a lemonade while Wheat went with grilled chicken and french fries. Dessert included a cookie dough sundae, that was far too decadent to finish, and Wheat's personal kryptonite, deep-fried Oreos. We listened to a gospel band perform as we ate, then decided to watch Elephant Encounter, a traveling show put on by a family with two elephants named Cora and Shannon. While I was highly entertained by the elephants marching around, carrying their trainer, and playing musical instruments, I couldn't avoid the nagging feeling that we were encouraging some type of animal abuse. I suppose it was the knowledge that notable traveling shows have gotten rid of their elephants in recent years (ex. Ringling Brothers), but I couldn't help but wince every time I saw the trainer goad the elephants with a bullhook. Heartbreaking.

Although I love roller coasters and any kind of thrill ride imaginable, the older I get, the less I can stomach them - literally. So, I usually just settle for the ferris wheel and call it a day. This year, however, when Wheat asked if I wanted to go for a ride, I opted out saying that the sunset would be over by the time we reached the top. Twenty minutes later, the sky looked like this:

Instant regret. Ugh. There's always next year, right? And now, I don't have to nervously wait as my best friend asks the cute guy to ride the ferris wheel with me. I can do it all by myself.