Tulsa State Fair

We recently learned the Tulsa State Fair brings in about a million people over its 11-day span every September. A million is a lot, at least for Oklahoma. Perhaps its enough to generalize a bit: as someone wise recently told us, there are in fact two kinds of people in the world: those who love the Tulsa State Fair and those who do not. 

Eager to discover to which group we belong, we gave it our first shot this year and found the whole experience--a collusion of county fair homeliness and crazy alien madness competing for all our senses: bright lights, loud noises, intoxicating aromas and stenches, vertigo and dizziness, fiscal solvency, and at times our sense of decency (Krispy Kreme bacon cheeseburgers were among the most modest offerings: the Tulsa State Fair will deep fat fry your GUM...)--we found all this, all things considered, more or less agreeable. The kids enjoyed the fun house, its quaking hallways and mazes, repeatedly. The grownups, the fresh-squeezed lemonade. We did not enjoy the forest floors of stroller-stumping electric cords, the spikes in ticket costs for rides, and the crazed-ness of the evening with the kids (which is somehow different than the ever-enjoyable craziness of this fair, like all fairs). The night, equal parts exhaustion and exhilaration, proved a family walking tour in Tulsa ethnography: we saw large men in overalls yelping as wild rides whisked them about the night sky; evangelical clowns with serious balloon skills; endless vendors pushing your next American-made pickup truck and the stuff to fill it with; and all things, edible and not-so-much, fried on a stick. This may sound extravagant or somehow Tulsa-stereotypical, which is right: that's what the Tulsa Fair is all about. It's also about homespun arts and crafts, rowdy and gutsy and folksy music, cultural and agricultural exhibits, and play equipment for all ages. The food is too exotic to be all negative, and too dangerous to be all positive. It is really its own category. But don't believe us. Read on here. Or here. Or here. 

Here are a couple photographic highlights:  

Among a warehouse full of pungent farmyard animals, here we have newborn piglets hanging out with their mommas in undersized pens. Humans were apportioned exponentially more space to pass through than the animals were to live.

A wild roolet.

Ben's favorite part of the fair. A platform covered in thousands of blocks.

A "pie"-eating contest, in which Ben pulled a close third in the race to devour a plate full of chocolate pudding.

Proud spoils of the match.

Our one culinary abomination for the day: one giant, BBQ turkey leg. It was delicious! In the sprawling category of semi-edible foodstuff on a stick available that day, it was also one of the less barbaric.

Even with Libbie, the comparative less barbaric status of this snack still holds.

An iconic six-story carousel sunset.

Aaron and Kourtney riding a hang-glider ride.

To repeat the signage: by "fried," think "deep fat fried": shrimp, grilled rib-eye steak, goat-fat fries, oysters, boneless rib sandwich, alligator bites, watermelon, half-pound lamb burger, onions, mac & cheese--all this, all deep-fat fried (watermelon, mac & cheese!), all available under one pavilion, among dozens more.

In short, there seem plenty of reasons to want to go back, maybe even more than there are reasons for us to dread the thought. All in all, it seems we're not yet sure which of the two kinds of people in the world we are. Check back with us next year, sometime around September (or maybe December if we keep up this blogging lag).