Last Friday was a PD day, and Anne had it off—a perfect start to the long weekend. After making a few quick phone calls in the morning, we set off to make some local lamb deliveries and then headed to Goderich to pick up a small piece of equipment for the farm.
“Well, Anne, looks like it’s lunchtime already,” I said as we passed through Petrolia. We stopped for a quick bite and then continued north to collect what we came for. Mission accomplished, we began heading home when a text came in from our daughter, Tess. She and her boyfriend, Dylan, were on their way to the Brigden Fair. Since we were already passing by, Anne and I decided to join them.
The Brigden Fall Fair has been a staple in Anne and my life. We’ve both been attending it since we were kids—so many memories tied to that fair. We spent some time checking out the animals, and I took particular delight in identifying all the sheep breeds before we even got close enough to read the pen signs.
I showed Dylan around, introducing him to the wonders of a true rural fair—the competitions for the biggest bean plant, the best pie, and more. Of course, we indulged in some classic fair food that wasn’t the healthiest but tasted great. I had an odd craving for a Pogo dog—not my best decision, but hey, it’s the fair!
As we were getting ready to leave, something popped into my mind: Caramel corn! When I was a teenager, heading out the door to pick up Anne for the fair, my mom handed me some cash and said, “Rodney, could you please bring me some caramel corn?” Ever since then, I’ve made it a habit to try and bring some home—though, truth be told, I’ve missed a few fairs over the years thanks to the demands of fall harvest.
But this year, I remembered. I made the purchase, and as the four of us—Tess, Dylan, Anne, and I—walked away from the midway with its loud music and flashing lights in the background, Tess turned to me and said, “Dad, I think Gramma likes a different kind of caramel corn.”
Wait a minute… Gramma has multiple people bringing her caramel corn? I thought. But then I smiled and said to Tess, “I don’t think it matters what kind of caramel corn it is. It’s the thought that counts.”
Farmer Rod