Day Of The Fair During The Summer Reopening In The United States-CSMonitor.com |

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After the pandemic is so severe, even the strangest things — pig racing, chopper juggling, fried banana racks — are normalizing.

Yes, we are talking about the expo, coming here again after the interruption caused by the pandemic. If it's not in your county or state, maybe the next one will end.

The Americans are eager to resume the summer rites. Noisy parades, racing races, zucchini festivals, yes, the iconic local market has become an important part of American culture, revealing a country that is ready to revel in public celebrations and deep-fried dough.

The bazaar is one of the oldest traditions of mankind. For those who travel long distances to participate in the exhibition, it can evoke "the archetype narrative that we intuitively desire, that is, the story of leaving the town and encountering "another". This is a hero The story of metamorphosis," our reporter wrote. We sent him to the San Diego County Fair, where, among the ravishing barkers and wild animal whispers, he found the Americans, who rushed into the crowd with their newly acquired freedom, eager to feel the public again. sex. Passing carelessly with strangers under the warm sky. Reintegrate into life.

Some organizers will tell you that this year’s show is smaller than usual—the pandemic’s impact is still lingering. But one worker pointed out another difference: "People are not so angry anymore."

"No one is worried about anything," she said. "Finally. That's it, right? What do we want?"

Suddenly there is music and horn sound from the speakers, you may hear it in Churchill Downs. It's time for a pig race. A voice sounded: "Should we bring them out?"

The crowd shouted affirmatively.

Perhaps a person has not really re-entered life after the pandemic-unmasking, alienation, indifference-until he sees a flying pig.

We are in Del Mar, California, a few seaside towns north of San Diego. Now is the early days of our country's re-summer. Just recently, California became one of the last states to cancel all COVID-19 agreements, although some cities such as Los Angeles re-implemented these agreements. Now we are bathed in coastal sunshine and sea breeze at the San Diego County Fair, one of the first large fairs on the American calendar in 2021. To be sure, it is not as "super" as usual. But for games, rides and magicians, it is already "super" enough. For the Ferris wheel that rises high above the endless Pacific Ocean. Suitable for carnival sellers, food stalls and wild animal whispers. For surprise. For the crowd.

Perhaps most importantly, it is big enough to make those people feel together again-let each of us pass by carelessly under the warm sky and reintegrate into life.

Finally, after the darkness of 2020, the ceremony of the American summer vacation is back. National flag parade, annual festival (from art to music to zucchini), family gathering ceremony. And, yes, the endless loop of state and county fairs. In San Diego, you can feel the relief, hunger and joy of people-they are eager to meet again in the traditional way. Maybe a collective adventure.

Maybe you will see something that you don’t see every day—even something that, honestly, you think you will never see.

The pig in question was named Swifty-so called by Zach Johnson, owner and foreman of Swifty Swine Productions. For 23 years, Mr. Johnson and his event have been "touring": county fairs, state fairs, rodeos, and car races. "All 50 states except Alaska and Hawaii," he said proudly. Then last year he had nowhere to go.

Now, he is standing outside the huge red apple trailer with pigs and people, smiling in the Southern California sun and saying, "I really like racing with pigs."

Next, he flips the switch, taps the headset microphone to check the sound, and prepares for the performance at 1 pm-Swifty and her flying performance will be part of it. First of all, friends, there will be racing cars.

Have you seen a pig race? (You don't say it.) In the next nine minutes, Mr. Johnson will introduce to you. On this day, although the afternoon has not yet started and the bustling crowd has not yet arrived, the stands are already full. At their feet is a small, short fenced path, piled with sawdust. Suddenly there is music and horn sound from the speakers, you may hear it in Churchill Downs. it's time. "Should we bring them out?" Mr. Johnson asked. Indeed we should, the crowd said.

At this time, Mr. Johnson knew that he had mastered what you meant, because the four little pigs came trembling from the slope of the trailer, and the whole audience made a "wow" voice involuntarily. Mr. Johnson divided the observer into four parts to support each pig, explained that racers would run the track to get Oreo rewards, and told us the names of our pigs-he often repeated these names so much that he Listeners who know what their pig is like will respond. Meet "Kevin Bacon", "Britney Pork Ribs", "Brad Pig" and "Kim Kardashian Ham". They are off work.

They are fast, this is not the point. They are very cute, that's it. (Well, most of them were fast. After the other three racers entered the barn, one still satisfactorily bypassed the quarter. This gave Mr. Johnson a chance to say, "I'm sorry, third Festival, I think your pig"-here comes-"strained a hamstring.")

Soon there will be a second game with more adolescent pigs, this time named after a politician. (Hello, "Nancy Piglosi". Hello, "Donald Trumproast.") It is worth noting that some animal rights activists do not like raising pigs and believe that these animals are used by humans for entertainment, but there is definitely no such sentiment. Stand today. In any case, the racers here are not stars. The star now appears from the trailer, with a huge hand on Mr. Johnson's chest, she herself is Little Swift. Wow.

But let's leave Swifty for now; there is a complete fairness to see.

Back in the middle, among the crowd surrounded by the food stalls on top of the billboards, there are rare delicacies in life. You are not only shocked by the wonderful experience before the pandemic, but also by the whole event. When the pandemic closed most of the United States in 2020, the organization behind the San Diego Expo reportedly lost two-thirds of its employees. Then, in order for the 2021 exhibition to run normally, it had to consider the opening in June every year—much earlier than other large exhibitions in Minnesota, Texas, Iowa, and Massachusetts. Some of these exhibitions are as late as October. The June date means that a plan must be made during the throes of COVID-19, long before it is possible to know what early summer will bring. In the midst of uncertainty, countless partners who provide food, service and entertainment have to be persuaded to make a promise. "They are just throwing dice," a partner said of the risks taken by show planners. "Cheers for them."

It's work, mainly. Although the organizers are unwilling to specify, several suppliers estimate that the 2021 Expo will only be “a quarter of the normal size”. Even end-of-season fairs like Minnesota announced, “For many of our partners, it will take some time to recover from the past year, so this year’s show may look a bit different from what we are used to. However, I promise ," General Manager Jerry Hammer (Jerry Hammer) said, "We will do our best to provide you with a comprehensive Minnesota State Fair experience."

Many things this summer may not fully provide the pre-pandemic "comprehensive" experience-but it won't stop them from feeling very sweet. Or salty, because the taste may be biased towards the midway of San Diego. We are heading to the "Extreme Dog" show (showing time 2pm), but it is difficult to get through the food stalls. You know what I'm talking about. I'm talking about giant grilled sausages, char-grilled corn, Texas funnel cake, smoked barbecue sandwiches, cheese bread, kettle corn, "award-winning giant turkey leg", "mashed" potatoes, ice cream, lemonade, fruit pizza , Hot dogs wrapped in bacon. We won’t even mention fried dough, fried artichokes, fried avocados and fried bananas. ("If you can eat, we can fry," a waiter told me.)

The stand of the "Extreme Dogs" event was full. I was squeezed next to Rob Suarez, a house inspector from nearby Escondido, who dragged his family for generations. "Always look forward to this," he told me as we waited, looking up at the Ferris wheel in the distance and the huge slide rising southward. "We come every year. I mean, except last year." I asked him if he felt comfortable in a crowded crowd after we all experienced this. He squinted at me slightly. "Of course. I mean, I did it straight away. A lot of people did it. All these stories about people coming back from hiding "uncomfortably"?"

He said that this made him very angry. "It's like the reporter didn't realize that most people didn't hide.

"But hey, I missed this!" he said, meaning the whole carnival around us. "And these dogs? They are crazy."

Dogs, when they perform, are crazy. They grab any frisbee launched, spin, flip, bounce past their handlers at the same time, or jump into a 30-foot pool. The crowd loves them. "They like crowds!" the handler Andrea Rigler said later. "They are being hyped!"

Ms. Rigler herself seems very conceited, especially when performing with her rescue dog Leap, she has won the open freestyle world championship three times. It's easy to see why.

Later we asked Ms. Rigler whether this year's show was different from all the shows and exhibitions before the pandemic. "Oh yes," she said. "People are not so angry anymore." Less angry? "No one is worried about anything," she said. "Finally. That's it, right? What do we want? Don't worry. You can feel it in the crowd."

After the dog, we crossed the bazaar again. Musicians are playing, corn is piled on the grill, and people are selling flags. In the multi-acre shopping mall, people are stuffing bamboo pillows, products sold by lakeside scissors, and a machine that promises to "vibrate the whole body, sit or stand". (It's next to Pistachio House.)

Not far away, a man is milking. Her name is Alena, she weighs 1,500 pounds and provides 14 gallons of milk a day. In addition, like all cows, she can smell things up to 6 miles away. What you learned.

Finally, we came to Swifty Swine again. We grabbed Mr. Johnson and asked how he got into this...professional. He said, "23 years ago, I saw these guys in Texas"-he was referring to the freshman version of the current show-"and thought it was too cool. Talked to the boss and he was going to sell So I asked my wife Shannon, who was in business marketing at the time, "Hey, do you want to race pigs?""

Now it's the screening time again. Pig race. (This time it's Kardashian ham, by the nose.) Then Swifty came out, ready to fly into her stainless steel sink. In fact, Swifty is more like a swimmer than a flyer. Still, there was a moment—your heart beating for it—when she jumped off her platform, there was nothing but the sky. Then she splashed into the sink and swiped across the sink quickly.

Woz Jackson watched by my side, carrying his daughter Camelia on his shoulders. She clapped, pointed, screamed and sighed throughout the show-as soon as it was over, she said, "Dad, can we raise a pig?" Mr. Jackson just looked at me, smiled, and then said to his daughter every parent What we would say in a crisis, "We will see, my dear. We will wait and see."

I told him that I was surprised that the children still like this kind of simulation activity. Has he ever wondered why high-tech entertainment hasn't made this kind of thing obsolete?

He shrugged. "I don't know. All I know is that if we miss the fair, my children will kill me.

"This is a tradition," he said.

Then he shook his head and added: "But how come I don't have a pig?"

The bazaar is definitely a tradition-although the facts have proved that this tradition is very malleable, it has evolved at the same speed with the development of civilization and technology over the centuries. The Romans held a fair. Villages in the Middle Ages held fairs so that potential customers would be there when merchants gathered. Renaissance fairs ("fairs"?) are obviously so interesting that the entire industry exists today to repeat them. The first modern state or county fair was held in Syracuse, New York in 1841. (One of its attractions: plowing competition. Who needs TikTok?) This has led to the tradition of community agricultural fairs, which usually celebrate the harvest regularly and provide some respite and social fun for those who work in the fields. The Agricultural Fair is the tacit approval of the interdependence of the community. There are also opportunities to brag. "You've got an 800-pound pumpkin, Eldrick. What do you think of my 1000-pound bombshell?" Over time, the "ag" element shrinks and the pleasure element increases. Electricity brings night entertainment. With an engine, there are amusement facilities. Accompanying the amplification is noise.

Literally, the expo has become an entertainment circle. The film "National Fair" was released in 1933, was nominated for Best Picture, and sparked two remakes (1945 and 1962) and-63 years later-a Broadway musical. Its plot records the Flake family's annual stay from a small farm to the biggest event imaginable: the Iowa State Fair. The old Flakes considered competition (pigs, pies); the young Flakes was romantic. They all found their purpose-even though they found it in any way, I will not destroy it.

The movie is not bad, is this a surprise? Maybe it shouldn’t be, because for all the recipe contest climaxes and love contest folders, what the movie is best at is to bring to life what we first liked about the fair. Their size, their sounds, their games, performances, rides and exhibitions are exotic. Their version of the world. I saw the "National Fair" for the first time when I was a child, I can't think of anything, but...I want to go.

I certainly understand why Frakes wants to go. But it wasn't until later that I realized that their journey from innocence to experience was one of the archetype narratives we instinctively longed for, a story of leaving the town and meeting "another". Tells the story of the protagonist's perversion. For the Frakes, the Iowa State Fair at least freed them from ordinary lives. It maximizes the possibility of slipping out of a person's skin and staggering into adventure. Where might it lead?

This year, of all the years, we may want to know. Last summer, there were no markets, no amusement parks, no parades, and no crowded music festivals. Leaving town? Many of us have not left our house. If we encounter "the other", it is through Zoom.

"A city needs its dreams," the great design anthropologist Christopher Alexander wrote in "Pattern Language", which is his team's discussion of how to build towns and houses based on centuries of human experience. Groundbreaking manual. A prescription for how to evoke these dreams? "Leave part of the town as a carnival-crazy juggling, competitions, performances, competitions, dancing, music, street theater, clowns... let people reveal their craziness; weave a wide pedestrian street in the area; follow [ Alley] runs stalls." So it was at the exhibition. So it’s midway in San Diego-people are finally free to expose their madness, no matter how civilized. Walk the "wide pedestrian street" here and you may see anything. You might see a man juggling a machete on a 7-foot wheelbarrow. You may see rescue dogs become superheroes.

You may see a flying pig.

So, do you want to meet Swifty? Of course you know. Just like the 43 people in line now, only a few minutes after the 4:30 show. Mr. Johnson promised that for only $10, you can take a picture of Swifty to commemorate this moment (he called it a "photo"). Full color, 5×7, after 30 seconds, thank you.

Judging by the people in line, Swifty is attractive to people of all ages. "You can play with your phone all day," Mr. Johnson said, "but how long can you hold a pig?" Swifty, now wrapped in a towel, seemed to accept her followers with affectionate elegance.

"She's not rough!" said 11-year-old Delaynee Martinez, holding Swifty and posing for a photo with her cousins.

We returned to the opposite side of the park and found the charming Ms. Rigler while resting before the last "Extreme Dog" show of the day. This is her first event since the beginning of the pandemic in March 2020. She told us about the year she "spent"-conducting online dog training and driving rescue dogs from one place in the United States to another. . Now, "I'm glad to be back. It's a relief." Things are normalizing; her performance and game schedule are full. She glanced at the parking lot a hundred yards away, where there were a lot of RVs. One of them is hers, and inside are her 10 dogs. ten? "They are also our pets," she said.

When we separated from her, the sky began to darken when night fell. Cornflower blue lilac stripes.

We aim to export, but Renhe has other ideas. Somehow, we swept towards the pig again. The performance at 8 pm is about to begin, and you can see that the stands are now crowded even from far away. There are strollers, wheelchairs, children on the shoulders of parents. When we were walking, we passed a little girl who took her mother towards the small arena. "Mom, are they going to play? Is that where they are going to play?"

Oh, they are going to play, all right. They were playing when we were nearby. We are not going to look at them again. Really, we don't.

Except that this time the hum is louder than before, its energetic gravitational pulls people from juggling, arcades, and picnic tables. The lights around us are on, the carnival air is electric, we are all together, and finally, we have found those eternal summer rhythms. Then from inside I started to hear it: "Go to Swifty, go!" Now the voice is louder, feeding on myself. "Go, go! Go, go!" I was thinking, what will happen this time? How amazing? How absurd?

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So forgive me, but I must leave you now because Swifty is flying again.

And, of course, you can blame it on my long closed heart, but I need to see how far it goes.

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