WordSisters

Category: seasons

  • Easing into Fall with the Minnesota State Fair

    Buzzing cicadas signal summer’s last gasp. Cooler days and school are ahead and soon summer will officially be over. The sun is still warm but a hint of melancholy drifts in with fall’s cool breezes. Yet another summer is gone and I haven’t done everything I meant to do. But the exuberant excess of the Minnesota State Fair next week is the remedy.

    I didn’t grow up going to state fairs. Ohio’s is in Columbus, three hours south of Toledo, my hometown. Years ago, when a friend urged my husband and I to go to the Minnesota State Fair, I was skeptical. To do what—see cows? Play midway games you never win? 

    She persuaded us to try it, even when our sons were toddlers. The plan was to go at 8 a.m. when it’s cooler and less crowded. Leave after lunch. Our friend initiated us into state fair lore: Do the park and ride buses which are crowded, entertaining, and efficient. Get mini donuts for breakfast. Cinnamon sugar over greasy fried dough—what’s not to like? Try at least one crazy new food for lunch (the state fair has hundreds—it’s a yearly competition). Birria crunch bombs? A pretzel shaped like a mustache? Peri-peri hot chicken bowl?

    We had more fun than expected. The Princess Kay of the Milky Way butterhead sculpture. Fancy chickens with colorful plumage. A glimpse of rural life with 4H-ers parading the cows, sheep, or horses they raised. The Creative Crafts building with spectacular quilts, fanciful crocheted animals, and clothing ranging from professionally tailored to endearing first efforts. Jeweled jellies. Wilting cookies and breads. The Fine Arts building showcasing paintings, photos, and sculptures—a rare equal opportunity for unknown as well as established artists. Impressive crop art and giant pumpkins in the Ag building.

    Later we accompanied our grade school sons, who embraced junk food and water rides, but quickly learned midway games were a ripoff. For several years they collected Academic All-Star certificates at a casual ceremony. I’m not sure how rigorous the standards were, but we were happy to celebrate academic effort.

    High school marching bands are invited to perform at the state fair, and for several years our youngest participated. His bandmates poured out of several buses, wearing band T-shirts (August is way too hot for wool uniforms and tall white hats with black plumes). Free admission was the main perk for the teenagers. They marched and played a few songs and then were free to shuck their instruments and go have fun. Band moms like me handed out water in the mid-afternoon heat then adjourned for a beer at the Leinenkugel Lodge. 

    Two State Fair Grandstand performances are especially memorable. Bonnie Raitt playing blues hits from her “The Nick of Time” album in 1990. The weather was threatening but she had us rocking and cheering until the news interrupted—blues legend Stevie Ray Vaughan had died in a helicopter crash. We were all shocked and sad, but she did her best to perform, offering the concert as a tribute. In 2022, I returned for of Diana Ross. The nostalgia trip was fun, but when we were leaving, a shooting in the parking lot had us has all scrambling to get out of there. 

    Although our sons are grown, my husband and I still go. At 8 a.m., the air is cool and I’m tempted to bring a light jacket but know better. Once there, our shared cup of Sweet Martha’s chocolate chip cookies makes it easier to say goodbye to summer.

  • Season of Change

    Since ancient times, people have observed days growing shorter and dreaded winter’s coming darkness, which culminates at winter solstice. These days, many of us barely notice this natural shift, but instinctively we light candles, fill our homes with tiny twinkling lights, and gaze at crackling fires—all in an effort to push back the darkness. Beyond being the shortest day of the year, winter solstice can be thought of as a time of change, when one era or year draws to a close and a new one dawns.

    Some personal events parallel this natural cycle of transformation. My family is expanding—a welcome change—and our tradition of hosting several days of long elaborate holiday meals will evolve. Next year, there will be a little person in a highchair who won’t be able to sit still and wait while we linger over a second glass of wine. We’ll let go of our current traditions and invent new ones that are more kid-focused. That’s as it should be.

    I’m also aware of another coming transformation. One of the writers’ groups I’ve been part of for 15+ years will change when a core member moves to Michigan. Because we write memoir and personal essays, we have shared our secrets and personal truths—first in stories with the group, later in writing launched into the big world. Consequently, we have developed an extra measure of trust and acceptance other friendships might not achieve. We support each other when our lives are troubled and when our writing stalls. We celebrate our personal triumphs and our publishing successes. The idea for the WordSisters blog came from this group—you’ve read our writing over the years. 

    Of course, we’ll continue to meet via Zoom. We’ll still share our stories and writing, provide encouragement, and offer personal and writerly advice. We’ve pledged to stay part of each other’s lives, but we all understand our current way of meeting is ending. 

    I’m at the cusp where I can see the past and the future—acknowledge what’s changing and welcome what’s coming next. My family and my writers’ group will move into a new era. In the natural world, the days will begin to grow longer and brighter minute by minute, and spring will arrive as it always does.

  • Liminal Space

    Wednesday and Thursday in Minneapolis were a liminal space. Tuesday was in the low 90s and sunny. I welcomed my book group into our air-conditioned house instead of the baking patio, and I served lemonade pie, a frozen confection which suited summer’s last gasp.

    During the night cool air crept in. No storm signaled it, but Wednesday dawned in the low 60s. The overcast day felt like a pause. A chance for our bodies to sit with the transition. Acknowledge and accept it. We were no longer part of the humid blanket of summer but not yet into the cool sunny days of fall.

    So often we forget that we’re more than walking brains. We tend to ignore our animal nature. But some deep instinct responds to the season’s change–the later sunrises and earlier sunsets. The coming cold and darkness of winter. Beyond the sudden urge for apples instead of peaches and soups instead of salads is the emotional shift many of us feel. An awareness that feels metaphorical as well as physical.

    Some are sad that summer’s over and won’t return for nine months. Others are relieved and energized by the sense of a new beginning–it’s a new season and time for new habits, new possibilities. This year, have seemed unsettled by the season’s abrupt change. I’ve sensed an undercurrent of unnamed emotions.

    Today is sunny and in the mid-70s. Those underlying instincts are forgotten. Dissipated like the heavy cloud cover that pinned us in place on Wednesday and Thursday. Many have returned to being busy walking brains. But our bodies remember.