We sold over seventy dozen schenetka and I have no idea how many pumpkin rolls. Everybody seemed to have lots of mad money to spend.
They bought food and souvenirs--even totally useless ones like little bags of red Oklahoma dirt, which was sold by the chamber of commerce for a dollar, rendering a great return. (Because of the drought, dirt is more abundant than ever this year, and tiny snack bags don't cost much.)
One little girl was particularly interested. She seemed oblivious to the crowds around, relishing the feel of the clay beneath her hands with a kind of intense blissfulness.
All morning, strange people strode fearlessly about the courthouse square. Everybody seemed to be sporting something unique--face paint, ponytails, pet dogs awaiting the dog show, children dressed for the parade, or even unusual tattoos.
Of course there was a parade, hailed by the mighty sirens of two firetrucks and a police car. Important people in the community were given a ride aloft, from whence they could hurl candy to their proud fans. There seemed to have been no entry requirements. The high school band marched proudly, trying to drown out the "righteous riders" a motorcycle "gang" who laughed as they reved rebellious-sounding engines; parents carried children in costumes, people walked their dogs proudly by like floats--full of fluff and bark.
There were old cars, decorated wagons, unicycles and even a tractor or two. Yes, that's Fred driving this beautiful John Deere green one.
There's nothing quite like proud sounding trumpets on a clear, cool morning.
And it's a good thing this horse didn't come by until later, because those trumpeters would not have been able to watch their steps.
As the day wore on, I saw many revelers growing quiet and seeking quiet bubbles amid the crowd.
This little girl waved at me from her elegant perch on the courthouse porch.
The weather was perfect, the atmosphere benign and peaceful, but I'm exhausted and still recovering from the raucously continuous chirruping of those perky little parakeets.