Bats and Black Cats Faire

Do me a small favor and pretend that the summer was a whirlwind of fun—that we had laughs and joy and I totally didn't disappear for August while hoping guests would fill the void only to have but one step up to the plate (and huge thank you to the one who did).

It's October, the month where I churn out daily countdown entries, except for the days I run behind, but that only means you get two or three on the days I play catchup. I also try to bang out a few legit articles too, so being as it's actually SEPTEMBER when I'm writing this, I think maybe I can pull it off. I have one more related to sodas, so that's a surefire easy win. I can use them for the countdown too. Work lazier, not smarter…

Now, since we've been flooded by a deluge of rain lately, that sets the stage for the event. This wasn't even the recent nor-easter we got, so it's just the run-of-the-mill gross rainy weather that makes the day kinda yucky. Weekends are fleeting, however, so there's no sense sitting home and enjoying a rainy day inside, even if that would actually help me find a spot to lay out the aforementioned countdown. I'm so behind.

But there was a silver lining. Usually these vendor fairs charge an admission—and this was no exception—but the rain dropped the hefty $5 admission down to a dollar. At that rate, you can't afford not to attend. Cheap old me (foreshadowing) did ensure that the majority of the tables were indoors first. Doesn't matter how low the price goes if I'm not going to stick around.

The initial photos show only stray tents out braving the rain, but I assure you those are but the few. Once you get past the poor souls who won't get more than a customer or two, you enter the hanger. It's not the cattle barn, since that was next door, but it may have been for llamas or the rotting vegetable displays from the summer fair.

Oh yeah, it was on a fairground, so the property was getting used more than one weekend a year, and the large buildings helped house everyone under one roof.

Oh yeah, part II… I never really mentioned what this was. It's a craft fair for gothic and spooky things. Think the Freaks and Uniques article I wrote ages ago, except without the organizer being brought up on charges of selling human remains. Allegedly, anyway.

Now, from past experience, I've learned that vendors generally frown upon pictures being taken. If they don't frown, they yell in a really grumpy way. I understand that it's so people don't get wise to the crafting and use it for their own purposes (more foreshadowing), but I had an article to finish, and random pictures of barn walls just won't do. So I held my flip phone low and got what I needed to get. Bonus points for shooting from the hip so I could mirror a pretentious medium-format photographer.

Hopefully the faux-pas garners some understanding and can be seen as some form of promotion. There's no monetization for any of what I do, so I gain nothing other than another checkmark in the October to-do list.

I must admit that I've gotten to a point where nicknacks and collectables have reached a critical mass. Deer skull desk lamps are very cool, and I praise the crocheting skills needed to make a spiderweb scarf. But I'm there for the vibes and to make use of an otherwise washed-out weekend. That said, there were some items of interest.

The paintings were rather nice, and one of a jumping spider caught my eye. The Halloween-themed sweaters would have been right up my alley too, had I been a woman in the 1980s, but alas.

And it wasn't just stuff to buy. Should you feel a little crazy, you could get a small tattoo on-site. My stealthy attempts at getting a photo of one participant in a very compromising position didn't seem to go unnoticed. The family clearly was on to me and made it known in the photo.

I also got a stuffed bat that wasn't created by A.I. I'd make a joke about how I wouldn't be worried about prompting things into the real world, but I guess that's where 3D printers come into play, and those are largely frowned upon in these circles too.

In the end, I only left with a vintage bucket that can join the rest of the newcomers from recent years. I have no idea where it's from or when it was made. There's nothing in terms of branding, so we just have the repeating ghost group to go on. I could use AI to reverse search it, but WE DON'T DO THAT.

I bought a hotdog too, but I didn't eat it. It wasn't for me.

But wait… theyz iz more. The talent of a writer is in the foreshadowing, and since I mentioned the word "foreshadowing" twice, that means I'm at the top of my game.

Found objects appear with some regularity at these faires. Often they are postcards, which act as nice collectables from better days. But amoungst them are old portraits and cabinet cards. Far be it for me to say what people shouldn't sell; I do feel some pang of sadness when I see these, and it's only because, while their faces aren't forgotten to time, they can't really be connected to who they were in life. I imagine someone's descendants would be thrilled to know what their great-great-grandparents looked like, but it's an impossible task in a sea of historical faces.

UNLESS…

Their names are written on the back. And two of them were—with dates no less! Here's the part I truly feel bad about: since upon finding out that it would be $20 to buy the pair, I have a crippling Monster energy drink habit that keeps me from dying on the road, and I needed that bill. I also would only be using them to assign a photo to the person and performing some public service in updating the universal online family tree, so I snuck the camera out again and captured what I could behind the large display rack of crystals.

I'm sure I could justify what I did under some socialistic 'information belongs to the people' mantra, and I suppose I don't really disagree in cases like this, but I also admit that it was underhanded in some fashion, so for that I'm sorry.

So as penance, I did the research, and here are my findings:

Hazel Caroline Bux

9 September 1899 – 16 October 1993

I thought the last name may be Prix, but the French Canadians didn't start arriving until a decade or so later. Luckily, the lot all seemed to be from a photo studio in Philadelphia, so that and the first names and the rough date got me to the answer. She had a decent run at 94 years old, but I don't see any marriages or children. Perhaps that's why the photo ended up in the wild.

Dr. John Forsyth Meigs

3 October 1818 – 16 December 1882

I'm usually decent at historical cursive, but I read it as I Ansyth Miegs, and that did me no favors. But again, the location and death date helped, even if that was off by a few months. He had an equally impressive life, becoming a doctor. As one of eleven children, including a Brigadier and a Captain, he in turn fathered eight children and sixteen great-grandchildren (on record, so maybe more).

Beyond that, he graduated medical school at age 20 and began a four-decade career as the local physician. So dedicated, he was, that his death was in the line of duty, as he attended to a patient in the dead of night, which ultimately caused pneumonia. So while I'm certain he does in fact have existing relatives just given the sheer math, hopefully there's a small measure of recognition now with a face to the name.