I made a trip to Detour Farm this week. I will be telling you more about that on Monday.

While I was there Miz Annie gave me a gift — a dozen of the most beautiful eggs I’ve ever seen. Aren’t they pretty?

I didn’t even color ’em. They came this way. Naturally. I don’t even wanna crack ’em open.

Maybe I love this gift because for the past few weeks I’ve been helping out over at the Fair office. When I worked as a reporter I covered the county fair but I never really could participate in it.

I didn’t grow up going to county fairs. Our lives revolved around military events — not county events. And after daddy died, it revolved around court events, or so it seems the way I recollect it now.

My introduction to fairs really came after I married. Tim and I got married the week of the Oregon State Fair, so we spent an afternoon wandering around the exhibits. Tim isn’t much of one for roller-coasters and such.

My friend Amy wrote a column this week about the fair in her neighborhood. You can read her piece by clicking here.

My mother and father met at a county fair. And speaking of gifts, my buddy Paul Young sent me the following poem that he penned and I asked if I could share it with you and he said sure thang. As we go about our days, planning for fairs and such, let’s be grateful for these moments — each one a colorful and perfectly beautiful gift.

We Regret to Inform You

by Wm. Paul Young

Sometimes the evening finds you unprepared

When the guests have gone

And the silence descends demanding attention

And patriotic families try to fill the empty

table seat with the hollow sounds of

bravery and sacrifice and honor

Day words

that bring no comfort to the shard-like

stillness of the night

Sometimes the evening finds you unprepared

When drawn by irresistible need

You find his shirt

unwashed for all these days

a treasure with his scent still lingering

the nearest that you have to presence

and burying your face you let

the memories come crashing in

Breathe in a breath of life

And let the waters flow

Till all this ache within me ebbs

And heals my darkening soul

No Comments

Leave a Comment

Please be polite. We appreciate that.
Your email address will not be published and required fields are marked

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.