A picture-perfect fair

CUMBLERLAND — It is a wonderful thing when you when make someone happy — especially if she is your wife.

Last weekend, we went to an agricultural fair, which most Mainers do this time of year. 

It is a delightful ritual. What’s wrong with fresh air, smelly farm animals and food that is guaranteed to raise your cholesterol count to the point where your family doctor advises that you will be dead in 24 hours.

But I am not a native Mainer. I am a transplant from the Greater Boston area, who went to the Topsfield Field Fair every five years, which means I went twice as a boy. Hard-core Mainers would affectionally refer to me as a Masshole (that’s an asshole from Massachusetts). But I am OK with that and I am loved by all.

My wife is from Maine stock, a Windham  girl, if you will.

In the Pine Tree State, there are 24 fairs across Maine as summer wanes and autumn makes its chilly approach in September.

The Big One — Fryeburg Fair — draws thousands of visitors in search of fried dough, cotton candy, and a chance to bet on a horse. This harness raising not thoroughbreds.

We usually attend Cumberland Fair, which is just outside of Portland and about 40 minutes from our home.

It was a cloudy, raw day, but the smell of fries, sausages, and freshly baked pies, combined with carnies calling out to patrons to take a chance on their games, the absence of the sun didn’t get us down because we were in such a good mood. 

I was on a sugar high, anyway, after eating home-made maple fudge. It did melt in my mouth and I has this urge to wash it down with a quart of milk.

We played one game, and I managed to pick off two balloons on three tries with heavy darts, and Terri was awarded a plastic necklace.

After beating a carny at her own game and winning plastic jewelry, I was on a roll and my thoughts turned to the lottery.

We walked on when we saw a husband-and-wife team doing caricatures of fair goers.

My curiosity got the better of me and I persuaded my wife to have the artists draw my wife.

The artists tried to cajole me into a siting. I wasn’t shy, but I felt this was her moment in the sun.

Terri smiled as passerbys peaked in and watched as a pleasant man etched out the facial features of her face with a thick pencil.

When he was done, people nearly applauded the drawing. Terri was pleased and I was happy that she was happy.

She smiled all the way home as I sipped on apple cider and eyed another piece of maple fudge.