Strawberry Fair

The midway always looked like hope before it looked like business. They always do. Dreams begin with hope.

Children waited at the ticket booth with the patience only children possess. Parents counted bills and watched the sky. The smell of strawberries, fried dough, and fresh-cut grass drifted across the fairgrounds while a local band played and the magician delighted another crowd.

The rides, mazes, and bouncy castles made promises only summer can make. By midafternoon the shortcake tent was out of cream, then out of strawberries. Soon the tickets would be gone, the vendors would pack up, and the music would fade.

But for one Saturday in late June, none of that mattered. Neighbors gathered after another long Maine winter. Children laughed. Old friends talked. The memories would last long after the last strawberry was gone.