The Junk Bucket

While poking around at the Freeborn County Fairgrounds, I come across a painted sculpture made of assorted bits of junk, displaying the words "SIX BEST DAYS OF SUMMER". I look again, and realize it is supposed to represent the fairground logo, which includes symbols of all the elements of the yearly celebration of summer in Minnesota. I move on quickly because there is more to see, and the Republican representative is moving out from behind his huge Trump cut-out towards me. It is only later, when returning on another of the six days of the fair, that I notice a sign crudely written and placed beside the sculpture. It reads: The "Junkbucket" and All the Pieces... made by a 83 year old guy with one eye

and a shakey hand.  This explains the "chickenpoop" welding. The sign made me think of all the passion that goes into the making of the fair.
My first visit is to the Floral Hall. I help with the judging of homemade wines, and know several of the creative people who grow and arrange flowers. Everything is displayed and I am anxious to see which entries received purple "Grand Champion" ribbons. Then I head out to the food stalls. My first buy is always something deep fried, like a corn dog or cheese curds. The onion rings are good too. The crowds start to gather towards evening, the funnel cake line is long, and the rides open. There are years when I have spent hours going round the rides with my

sons, but today I shudder in horror at the thought of spending any money at all on a whirling, neck breaking, stomach churning moving bit of metal and lights.  Instead I take a quick walk around the other exhibits and find everything much the same as last year.
I am invited to stay in the campground. I'm not sure I want to spend any more time at the fair, but accept the opportunity to get away from the crowds and relax in an air-conditioned camper. The campers are families whose children are working and showing animals at the fair. In between their shifts and feeding schedules, they

get together and share food and a few laughs. This year there are three smokers going, preparing pork and beef for a future feast. Coolers are full, with plenty of shade to relax in during the day, and there is sure to be a lively game of poker once the sun goes down. I hear all about how the pig and rabbit judging will happen the next day.
The children have been preparing their animals since birth and the day has finally come. They dress appropriately knowing that they are being judged as much as their animals. How the champion is picked out of the many animals shown is a mystery to me, but I learn a bit more every year.

My son is helping out at the Livestock food stand this year and I have a few hours to kill. I wander round the exhibits for a second time and admire the enormous quilts. But what interests me more is the exhibits in the 4H building. These are children's projects, completed out of school, not for a grade, but just because they are experimenting with finding what they are passionate about. There are crafts and science experiments, and attempts to carry on a family's legacy. I applaud these youngsters for their passion and hard work.

I find myself at the fair for yet another day. I have already visited all the exhibits twice, but there is still more animal showings. I skip the chickens, but get in on the pig showing. Some of the children, all dressed up in boots and checked shirts, are smaller than the pig itself. More than one is in tears and parents have to step in.One by one they are eliminated until the final three winners are left tapping their hogs around the dusty ring. These will be auctioned off the next day, or rather, their ribbons will be auctioned off. Feed companies that do business in the area throw their money around as a way of rewarding farmers who give them business. I watch a sheep bring in $1500.

I visit the Kiddie Barn out of tradition. My own children are well past the age, but I just have to see if there are piglets this year. I am surprised to find a display of bees and information about bee keeping. The puppies and kittens are already sold, but most of the animals here are on loan.  I wonder who decides to own a peacock, or an alpaca, or a very noisy miniature donkey. I realize that all the animals at the fair are passionately cared for by someone with the express purpose of sharing them with fellow fair-goers. They put money into breeding and transporting these animals without being rewarded with money. This is their passion.

I have now been at the fair for four days. I visit the conservation building and learn about killer wasps. Then I put my name into a raffle to win Senator Al Franken's latest book.  I splurge on a Greek gyro and listen to a elderly trio play bluegrass nearby. I arrive at the grandstand in plenty of time to get a seat for the evening concert. The band Kansas will draw a large crowd, but it won't compare to the number of people who showed up last year to hear Ted Nugent . It goes to show that, as the sun goes down, other passions come out. The beer garden can hardly handle the numbers when a country singer is on stage.
Families camp and stay all week, the working

crowd comes after 5:00 and lingers through the evening. Seniors are bused in on Wednesdays, then come back with their grand-kids wanting them to have the same experience of the fair they had in their youth. Teens take their day jobs seriously, selling food and tending stalls, then flirt and show off on the rides at night. Together they bring their assorted passions to the fair, throw them together into the 'junk bucket', and jointly display what they have been individually nurturing all year.

The Active Pursuit of Joy

I view travel as the active pursuit of that elusive moment of joy. All summer I have experienced this, both first hand and through the travels of others who are visiting loved ones or moving on to new adventures.  However, in the Midwest, I have also noticed that people like to bring that joy back home with them. Masters of DIY, they turn their homes into resorts with back yard pools, hot tubs and fire-pits. They toil to make their neighborhood a small garden of Eden, or buy a cabin up north among the lakes and forest. What brought this to my attention was the new vineyard and winery in town. I was amazed that I had this in my backyard, but then found out that more than a few Minnesotans grow grapes and make their own wine.

I had never heard of Minnesota wine country, but there are two AVA's (American Viticultural Area) in the state: Alexandria and the Mississippi River valley. Growers have found that the lakes around Alexandria and the valley climate both make it possible to produce certain wines. I inadvertently visited both areas this summer and joined in with others in search of the good life.
The bikes outside Nelson's Creamery were too many to count. We joined a line that stretched out the door to get some of their famous ice-cream.  And of course there was plenty of cheese to buy, and wine. The owners had created a classy wine-tasting room out back and sold a huge variety of imported wines. It made for a nice stop on a beautiful drive through Wisconsin dairy land.
Others go out of their way to visit The Stone Barn for the authentic wood-oven Italian pizza.

I hear that some teachers opened the place and it only operates in the summer for those who want a bit of rustic fun on the weekend. They created a bit of Italy in the Midwest. At one time I would have laughed at someone's attempts to recreate an authentic foreign or classical experience with new materials in their own back yard. However, I now see all the work that goes into the bringing what we love best about a foreign culture or unique geography back for others' enjoyment. It is similar to the time a neighbor found the ingredients I needed to bake Brazilian pao de queijo, or when another friend kindly came over to make me a delicious curry with authentic spices.  We are all passing on the experience and sharing the good life .
I have a great admiration for those who can cultivate, decorate, cook, and create those foreign delicacies in their neighborhood for the purpose of sharing joy with other around them.

While helping with the judging of a local homemade wine competition I was able to pick up some advice and a story or two.  Grapes are not original to Minnesota, the climate being far too extreme. The first settlers made wine from corncobs. I had to have that process explained to me, as we tasted the wine entry after the judging was over.  Minnesota has wild grape, which can also be used to make a very potent wine, (some might not call it wine as it is over 50% proof). One local wine maker remembers a summer when, over the course of two family gathering for a christening and a confirmation, they were able to mobilize the guests to pick enough wild grape to make wine. "You could light that batch on fire!"

Since then the University of Minnesota has developed some hybrids that can survive the Midwest winter, and there are over 40 wineries around the state. One is the Three Oaks Winery just 10 miles from my home. I drove through the vineyard on my way into work. Naturally I had to stop, ignore the "No Trespassing" sign and walk between the vines. The grapes are doing well and this year's wine looks promising. Then I am thankful for all the research, time and backbreaking effort gone into bringing this joy home.