Marie Taylor, Ink

Every year in the early summer, right after the end of school and just before the Fourth of July, regular as clockwork, the carnival came to our little town. About a week before its arrival, the signs went up on telephone poles, in the laundromats and on grocery store bulletin boards. The word passed from kid to kid like wildfire. Piggy banks were emptied and totaled to determine how much of a good time would be had.

The carnival set up in a pasture outside of town and as soon as the sun started to go down, long lines of cars, pick-up trucks and motorcycles were forming. Children were bouncing on back seats in anticipation, fathers were smoking cigars and honking horns, and mothers were doling out money for rides along with admonishments about talking to strangers.

Volunteer policemen waved vehicles into unplowed pastures and as soon as the cars were parked, a flood of children broke from parental control and rushed towards the carnival proper. The sound of the calliope and the whirl of the Chuck-a-Luck wheel added to the excitement and under the spicy smell of sausage and sauerkraut was the sweet scent of new mown hay and the rich aroma of manure.

Any decent carnival had a big Ferris wheel and Merry-Go-Round, plus some fast and jerky rides like the Scrambler or Loop-de-Loop. There was always a roped off area for the little kids with cars that went in circles, little boats that floated in a pool of water, and tall swings on long chains that swung around until kids threw up. It was hard to imagine a better time.

Circling the rides were the booths the firemen had assembled and rented out to the town clubs and organizations. There would be games of chance, food booths with ethnic specialties and beer on tap, and booths with free information about chiropractic or bomb shelters or the latest tractor accessories. Finally, there was the big tent for bingo, a sought-after destination for the ladies.

By ten o’clock at night the carnival was in full swing. The kids were in a near frenzy from the sugar they had eaten, and the men tipsy or mean from the beer they had drunk. The babies were crying or fast asleep, and the women tired from trying to keep track of everyone. 

In the background, the summer sky was a soft black velvet studded with rhinestone stars. This was the magic time of night, full of flashing, multi-colored lights and music. It was surreal, it was Daliesque, it was as close to Las Vegas as most of us would ever get.

Then the fireworks began. The crowd hushed in anticipation as one after the other of brilliantly colored sky flowers exploded. Great gasps of admiration rippled through the crowd as showers of sparkling lights fell earthward.

The great booms received a more respectful silence. Each of these explosives shot into the air with a screeching whistle, then erupted in a shattering blast that stopped the breath. The reverberations reminded the men of the VFW of times when they were young and frightened in distant lands.

When the fireworks were over, everyone staggered back to their cars that were quietly waiting in the pastures. Our eyes were glazed and our bodies slack from this over-indulgence of the senses. The carnival was the high point of the summer for most of us. The rest of the season was spent at family barbecues or vacations to visit relatives, at Bible camps or swimming lessons, or just lying on summer lawns and watching passing clouds by day and catching fireflies by night.