One fair a season is my goal, but after this past weekend, I felt obligated to add a second. I could have pushed it off and proactively secured a spot for next year, but I’m not sure if I would remember by then. Plus, it’s all fresh in my mind.

My previous entry’s takeaway was one of minor annoyance at the more commercial aspects of the country fair, turning it more into a traveling carnival than something representative of the community. I commented that most lean more one way or another towards either agriculture or towards rides and vendors. Almost all have both; it just comes down to which side is more heavily weighted. So imagine if you didn’t have to accept the necessary evils and just had the old-fashioned county fair experience as it should be.

Now, this article will be highly subjective. I can certainly see the allure of a carnival experience, especially if you’re young, hanging out with friends, and have some disposable income that won’t blow your monthly budget by going on a few rides and playing some of the rigged carnie games. I don’t have that luxury, so every cent counts these days, so enter the Littleville Fair.

Nestled hours away and deep within a cellphone reception black hole, admission is inexpensive at $10 for adults and nothing for those 12 and under. Once you get through the gate, aside from food, you need not spend any further. The music, shows, and remainder of the attractions are free. The bouncy house obstacle course if funded by the National Reserve. The petting zoo and exotic animal display are hosted by local groups. Even the vendors are half historical information booths. The relatively few who have something to sell are either local craftsmen or have some sort of goods or service. No mass-produced imported slop. If you hoped to get a Pikachu bucket hat, then you’re out of luck!

The best part, in my view, is

NO RIDES

That could be a negative for some, but it allowed me to not bother with a whole swath of tickets, lines, and expenses that would otherwise become more hassle than they were worth. Never mind that the ticket bundles usually aren’t a common factor of what each ride requires, so you always end up with a few left over. You COULD buy a few more singles, but then you’re paying 50% more… So why not just buy another pack of 20…? Yeah, I’m fine without the rides hustle.

Okay, so you pet some goats, and they were overly enthusiastic about the process, going far beyond your comfort zone. You bounced off the obstacle course and broke your spine, and you let the loose Burmese python crawl around your ankles. What then?

Sadly, I got to the event far late into the day and missed many of the animal shows. I was also too early for the pie-eating contest and beard competition. From an objective point of view, perhaps both of those were poor matches; however, I did get there just in time for the main event.

THE DEMOLITION DERBY!

Okay, I knew about this in advance and ensured that I got on the road on time for the three-hour ride. With fifteen minutes to spare, seating was at a premium, but standing room was far preferable. Only the weak hide in the raised bleacher in vain attempts to avoid the debris field. That said, those on the other side, with arguably more distance between them and trouble, almost traded in for a different type of danger. Every spare rock, hill, and crevasse was home to a spectator’s seat, and upon viewing the crowd from across the way, I was pleasantly reassured that places still existed where personal safety and insurance considerations were thrown out the window wholesale. I saw one child fall down the dirt cliff, scrambling in vain to climb back up, while his siblings threw muddy clods down upon him lest he come close to succeeding. Others balanced on boulders that appeared no less inclined to stay put on the vertical abyss.

We’ll get to the carnage soon enough, but Littleville does things a little differently, you see. As the cars pulled into the arena, they flipped the script and handed out the trophy to the winner before anyone even participated. Would the winner actually be the one left standing in the end? We’ll have to wait and find out!

And you’ll need to wait as well. There were a few skirmishes, but the final events concluded after a break, where those left attempted to get their battered vehicles in semi-working condition in order to fight again. They were a sight to see, some with bent rear wheels that acted more like sled tracks than anything else, necessitating operation in reverse with the steering wheel permanently locked left. Others appeared to be missing entire sections, which were apparently unnecessary in the end.

As they did their deeds, we headed over to the chicken house to see what they had to offer. Rather than submissions, they all seemed to be owned by a large woman with Down syndrome, but to her credit, there were some rather impressive breeds on display. I can’t remember them at the moment, and my other pictures have already been transferred off my phone, so you’ll have to just trust me.

The only other animals were cows. Aside from the goats in the petting zoo, none were there to be judged. Perhaps they don’t like labels, but the public probably didn’t like their constant bleating either, so it’s a mutual split. The cows, on the other hand, had quite possibly the cleanest stable my shoes had the pleasure of walking through. Honestly, there was no smell, and I didn’t have to dodge landmines either. The animals were fairly chill, due in no small part to the cooler weather, and all in spite of the handlers taking a break to eat burgers for dinner. Right in front of them, no less, so perhaps the cows knew they won the lottery as long as they kept producing milk.

Okay, I know you’re dying to know how the derby went, but there’s something I need to address first, and that’s the curious case of:

VERY FEW FATTIES!

Okay, okay, that’s probably not politically correct, but the entire world liked to dunk on the US for the obesity trends, and as much as I want to go on the defense, it’s not without merit. I’d place half the blame on personal habits but an equal half on the fact that much of what is sold is not technically "food." Cracking the code is something that is quite difficult when the food industry is legally allowed to dump industrial byproducts into what you consume, and apparently 90% of the people at the fair had figured that out. I’d like to attribute that to the prevalence of farms in the area and the high likelihood of most of the food coming from a relatively small radius. Combine that with the nicotine/caffeine diet, and we’ve solved the nation’s weight problem.

Apologies for that tangent, but usually carnivals are known for nothing but roaming hordes of walruses who push the limits of the mobile thrill ride attractions. Just more evidence that I need to move.

Where were we? Oh yeah, car crashes.

Now, unlike the initial rounds, which were segregated by engine type, the final sessions had everyone lumped in together. The Cadillac behemoth went head-to-head with the 4-cylinder coupes, and it ended pretty much the way you would expect. But no one is there to see fair fights. Much like Battlebots back in the day, we want wreckage, and we want it as chaotic as possible. If I don’t get hit in the head with a flying wingnut, then I haven’t been served the entertainment I was promised.

Surrounded by two layers of Jersey barriers, they’d often pose little impediment to the careening vehicles mad attempts to take out the competition. If the crowd was unwilling collateral damage, then so be it. I’d only been to one derby prior to this, and it was seated far away from the stands, so you had a safe viewing distance. Well, not here! No, there was less than an arm’s length between my station and twisted metal.

Through some miracle, enough survived to justify a second finals competition. It was a last-car-running-type event, so until the engines cut out, the action continued. Now for the final verdict: did the trophy winner win? Indeed he didn’t; instead the honor went to an underdog rider and his co-pilot, Inflatable Annie.

I think the main takeaway from this was the total absence of everything I normally associate with a county fair. It felt like a step back in time, at least a half-century or so. The 70s seems like a good mark for the vibe. No $8 pizza slices, no convoluted ticket schemes, no unwinnable prize-games, no imported Chinese trinkets, and no attempt to empty your wallet after you pay the entry fee.

It did feel like most of the crowd knew each other, and if you didn’t, then they’d chat you up all the same. One guy—and I admit it was probably the beer taking the conversational initiative—told me his life story, from his days commenting at other demolition derbies, to his career in plumbing, to his life goal of digging a catfish pond and having infinite dinner at his disposal.

Ultimately, despite being scaled back in almost every conceivable way, it will almost be rather annoying to return to the other fairs this summer, since I’ll feel like I’m being fleeced at every turn. And when I’m not, the spectacles will almost come off as forced. The modern landscape has morphed away from what a county event should be, which is something focused on an actual community. I suppose it’s not surprising, since communities, insofar as regional groupings go, have fractured in recent decades beyond repair. People live closer than ever, but few know who’s around them. It was refreshing to see that pockets still exist out there that have managed to retain something close to what generations before ours took for granted.