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The great Wilbur search proved to be a fair game
By Debbie Farmer
'Let's take the kids to the fair," my husband said last Saturday afternoon. "It'll be great. There's nothing like all that fresh air and good food."
I could get the same effect by eating corn dogs in the backyard while standing next to the guinea pig cage in the sun. But I remained silent and packed up the car.
My children were excited when we arrived. We paid the entrance fee and they ran though the entry gate like Decathlon athletes on steroids while my husband consulted the schedule.
"If we hurry we can make the 4-H goat-milking competition or the dancing Chiquita Banana show," he said. "Or we can watch the hamster races and take a leisurely stroll to see the Giant Pig exhibit. What do you think?"
"The pig!" my 6-year-old daughter said. "I want to see Wilbur in Charlotte's Web!"
"Piggie," my 3-year-old son said.
I silently cursed the new first-grade literature program. My husband studied the map on the bottom of the schedule and we followed him through the fair. A half an hour later, we had seen every kind of animal, except a pig.
"Why don't we ask someone where it is?" I said as sweat began dripping down my cheek.
He looked at me incredulously. "Because I have a map."
The five most dreaded words in the male language. We were doomed.
"Why don't we go to the petting zoo instead," I whispered. "We might get lucky and find something we could pass off as a big pig."
I bought each of the children an ice cream cone filled with pellet food for the animals, and led them through the gate.
My son ran into the middle of a herd of goats and excitedly thrust out his cone. I thought I saw one goat yawn and roll its eyes. Two more wandered away, and two more began nibbling his shirt. They backed away when he offered them another handful of food.
"Where's Wilbur?" my daughter asked.
I quickly looked around, but I didn't see anything that could pass for a pig except for an opossum that was asleep on its side.
I fed the rest of the food to a desperate chicken, and guided my children to the kiddie rides in the carnival area. I bought them a few tickets for the mini-monster truck ride and hoped the circular motion and sound of the diesel horn would confuse them, cause short-term memory loss, and make them forget about the pig. When the ride stopped, my children ran to us.
"Can we see the pig now?" my children asked. "Please?"
"Let's go into the exhibit hall first," I said. I thought I could divert their attention by showing them the homemade quilts, preserves, and pies. They actually forgot about Wilbur until they saw a crocheted pig wearing a jaunty Easter bonnet and perched on top of a toaster.
I quickly guided them into the next building. It was full of commercial exhibits. We sat through demonstrations on how to create a custom window treatment by pulling a sheet through a set of plastic tubes, how to make a gourmet meal out of canned meat and instant rice in less than three minutes, and how to cut vegetables into the shape of Michaelangelo's David. But my children were not impressed.
"Can we find Wilbur now?" my daughter asked. "Please?"
I knelt down and looked into her eyes. "Honey, I don't know where he is," I said. "We've tried, but we can't find him."
Tears welled up in her eyes and ran down her cheek. "You mean Wilbur's lost?" she sobbed.
A crowd was forming around us, so I took my children to the carnival area and spent $20 trying to win a 50-cent goldfish by tossing a ball the size of Halley's comet into a shot glass. It would've been easier to sail to the Bahamas, dive into the ocean and catch a fish between my two front teeth, but at least my children were happy.
I kept them so busy no one mentioned anything more about the pig until my husband accidentally spotted the booth hidden behind the hamster races. It was easy to miss because several tired parents with glazed expressions were leaning against the sign.
I bought my children tickets and they ran through the gate. Ten seconds later, they ran back out.
"Ewwwwwww!" they shouted. "Gross."
My shoulders slumped. I could've bought 10 sparerib dinners for the price of one look. The other parents nodded knowingly.
I guided the kids quickly towards the fair exit with our treasures: two goldfish, a solar-powered 3-D car compass, and a blurry souvenir photo of my children smiling and holding their noses while looking at a giant pig.
As we pulled out of the parking lot, I looked into the back seat and saw them smile and wave good-bye to the lights that were just beginning to glow on the ferris wheel, and I knew my husband was right after all: there's nothing quite like the county fair.
Readers can contact Debbie Farmer at debbie@ecis.com.
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Willow Glen, California Since 1992
