Going to the County Fair

When I went to my parents’ house for dinner on Friday, my mom casually mentioned that we should all go to the Ventura County Fair on Saturday. She had been not-so-subtly hinting for the past couple summers about going to one of the county fairs, but my siblings, my dad, and I had usually responded with an unenthusiastic “meh.” But it had been a while since I’d last experienced the unique delights of a county fair, so I told her I was up for it. When my sister also indicated interest in going, it was settled. (My dad usually goes along with Mom’s weekend entertainment plans and he absolutely delights in dragging my brother, who would prefer to remain a hermit, on family outings.) The next day, we piled into the car and headed north to Ventura.


Located at the Ventura County Fairgrounds, right near the beach, the fair had the usual mix of exhibits, vendors, animals, and rides. The smell of greasy, deliciously-bad-for-you fair food wafted on the cool breeze. Navigating past the gauntlet of food booths, we reached the Morgan Horse Show Arena, located at the back of the fairgrounds. As we neared the barns surrounding the arena, the earthier smell of horse replaced the salt and grease. Excited to see the horses, my dad strode on ahead.


Hearing people outside their stalls, several horses poked their heads out to investigate. A chestnut-colored horse named Mikey examined us out of one large brown eye. Another horse, white dappled with brown, her mane plaited in pretty braids, reached out to sniff Dad’s hand. She seemed to quickly lose interest, however, when she found he had no food.


Next, we wandered over to the large livestock area, which housed various types of cattle, goats, and pigs. When we reached the pigs, I whipped out my camera and started cooing at them, exclaiming over how cute they were. I don’t know what it is, but I find their roly-poly bodies, their button-like snouts, and their curlicue tails (which they actually wag like dogs!) absolutely adorable. My brother smirked at me as he watched me go from one pig to the next. “Eew,” my sister said, scrunching up her nose. “How can you think pigs are cute? They’re gross and dirty.”

“Don’t listen to her,” I whispered to a mostly black pig, whose snout was covered in its lunch. “And I always try to eat turkey bacon instead,” I added, as I snapped a picture of his sleeping penmate.


There was a rodeo scheduled for that night in the Grandstand Arena, but by sunset the daytime high of 65 degrees was dropping quickly. Combined with the wind, we would have frozen in the cold metal stands. Anything below 60 is like the depths of winter here. Before we headed out, I capped off the fair by splitting a large funnel cake topped with powdered sugar and raspberry preserves with my sister. It was yummy, greasy, bad-for-you delicious. Just like fair food is supposed to be.