EARLIEST memories of the stellar events while I was growing up on a Blenheim hillside farm surely must include the annual Cobleskill Sunshine Fair.

Pennies and nickels and dimes were hoarded and saved all summer, in expectation of the fair, and sleep came late on the night before.

On the day before, Mom would prepare baked beans, potato salad, deviled eggs, fried chicken and apple pie, all with the help of her Kalamazoo wood stove. Then on fair day, my parents sailed through the morning chores in their excitement. Mom saw to it that my seventeen-months-older sister and I were dressed in our best cotton dresses, fresh ankle socks, and sturdy brown shoes with laces. New shoes were purchased each September through the Montgomery Ward mail order catalog.

Finally, Mom brushed our blonde hair into long finger curls, parted at the side and fastened with oversized matching ribbon bows. We were ready to go!

Grandmother Dewell, born in 1877 – just one year after the fair’s inception – came to live with us in 1935 when I was five years old and, of course, she came along. Three generations were together, at the fair. Later, a young man would come to us from a downstate institution to help on the farm, staying 50 years and, except for Christmas and his birthday, fair days were his favorite of the year.

Parking on the fairgrounds back then was traumatic for me. I recall Papa soberly making very certain that he knew the exact location of our newly polished Ford sedan in all those long, long rows of automobiles. On arrival, Mom would spread a large plaid blanket on the grass beside our car and we would feast heartily from our picnic basket. Oftentimes, we would arrange to meet friends or relatives.

Then, Mom always admonished my sister not to let go of my hand as we walked closely behind our parents, venturing across the racetrack into that blaring and crowded fair-y-land world.

There was so much to see, to take in! Just being able to attend was all my family could afford in those days. I do not recall rides or souvenirs being a part of the fun but I especially enjoyed watching circus animals doing their routines. Fun we had, all day long, until it was time to attend to chores again.

By the time I was ten, having gone through six grades in five years at the local one-room school, I entered Gilboa Central School’s seventh grade. Grades 7 to 12 were taken to the fair on school buses and I have never forgotten the conflicting emotions I felt as we were told to leave the bus on our own. I could hardly believe it! We kids stayed pretty much together, though relishing our freedom. And I had been given a whole dollar, which meant ten rides. That was in 1940.

An old scrapbook of mine contains two 4-H exhibit ribbons, one blue, one red, marked “Cobleskill Agricultural Society” and stamped on the back, “Sep 1944.” My sister and I had made shorts that summer and entered them at the fair. She won the blue ribbon and I the red one.

September days were often hot, and playing the trumpet in the Gilboa Central School band in front of the grandstand, wearing a wool uniform, was a challenge. But we were so proud!

By September, 1945, I was a high school senior, all of fifteen, and writing steadily to my childhood sweetheart, a nineteen-year-old sailor in the U.S. Navy of World War II. Film was a luxury and those little fair booth close-up photos were a treasure. Mine were eagerly received via F.P.0. San Francisco, on the ship USS LSM(R) 406 somewhere in the Pacific.

The war years over, where better to spend a special day with my sailor-come-home, than at the Sunshine Fair, riding the Ferris wheel, eating from the concession stands, strolling the grounds hand-in-hand, and admiring all the farm and home exhibits. And oh, the animals of God’s creation!

As dusk fell, we wrapped ourselves in a warm blanket, anticipating the show about to begin on the grandstand stage while, in the distance as we waited, the twinkling colored lights of the big wheel continued to spin ’round and ’round in the growing darkness. Magical moments!

Married, we continued the cycle, taking our children to the fair until they were old enough to attend on their own. Eventually we took our grandchildren, even those living in Georgia since fair month had been changed to August at some time. The thrills of those scariest of rides metamorphosed into the pure joy of watching fifth-generation little ones riding the merry-go-round and eating cotton candy.

Many loved ones are gone now, as they were for others when my world was new. But memories are precious and priceless, and each generation since 1876 could, or can still, look back to the Cobleskill fair as one of the standout happenings of their lives and times.

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