Fair Play
Growing up in Mississippi, I always knew it was officially fall when the state fair came to town. Each year, during the first week of October, giant rides, scary fun houses, food booths filled with fried everything, and of course the towering Ferris wheel with its neon lights would magically appear on the one hundred acres of the Mississippi state fair grounds in Jackson. The big yellow slide which we raced down in potato sacks lived there year round. But each October, the typically lonely yellow slide would be joined by its long lost friends – the ring of fire, the bearded lady, the world’s smallest man, and too many to name.
I first started going there as a child with my parents and my older brother. I distinctly remember being three or four when my brother forced me to ride my first “big kid” ride that went upside down. Looking back, it is clear I had no business being on that ride, but from that moment on, I loved the thrill of the creaky, thrown together, metal structures.
As I started elementary school, we children figured out the fair had arrived to town when someone’s loving mother would sneak a piece of the undeniably delicious Malone’s Taffy of Byram, Mississippi, into their lunchbox. It was the quintessential dessert of the state fair, and the gift that kept on giving as most people bought multiple boxes at a time. The quarter sized, chewy, vanilla confectionary melted in your mouth and always left you wanting more. It was like eating a tiny cloud made of sugar. It wasn’t strong enough to pull out a filling, but it was the perfect surprise when found in your lunch to take your day from mundane to amazing.
“He or she has taffy!” could be heard throughout the lunchroom in whispers of excitement. From that moment on, each child would return home to greet their parents with the question, “When are you taking me to the fair?” Our parents, most likely cursed whichever mom placed the taffy into their child’s lunch, then headed to the calendar to choose when would be the exact day they would spend the majority of their weeks’ paycheck on carnival games. They would also clear the counter for the goldfish their child would most likely win at the “throw the ping pong ball in the goldfish bowl and win a fish” game. It was miracle if those fish lived until Christmas. Fish funerals were all the norm around Thanksgiving in our town. I even had one friend whose parents hated the fair so much, they would pay him not to go. It actually seems like a pretty smart move now that I’m a parent.
In junior high, we would convince our parents to write us early dismissal notes and plot with our friends which afternoon would be the perfect time to visit the fair. We coordinated with our crushes and picked a well-known spot to meet, like the tilt-a-whirl or the scrambler. The big yellow slide was too far at the end of the lot to be a good meeting spot. These were the days where young boys would win tacky stuffed animals for the girls they were “going” with or young couples would hold hands while walking from ride to ride. The innocence was simple and now, as an adult loaded down with monotonous responsibility, seems so far from reality.
In high school, we finally got the blessing from our parents to venture to the fair by ourselves- to drive with friends, only to be given a strict curfew to be home by. We’d run free from ride to ride then load up on funnel cakes, taffy, fried catfish and pickles, and enough unhealthy things to make one sick for days. It was during this time we had finally graduated to the scariest of rides and possibly sneaking a beer from one of the carnival workers. After all, by sixteen or seventeen, we knew the workers on a first name basis. I’m still not sure if that was a good thing.
Eventually our time at the fair faded. It may have been the fact that college activities took us away with SEC football, classes, and nighty social events, or it could have been the due to the fact that my friend Katie and I sat in someone’s meal they had ingested before going on the double Ferris wheel. They must not have known there is a rule of waiting thirty minutes to ride after eating, much like swimming. The event is still scarred in my brain, and I still gag when I think about it.
Needless to say, my memories of fall and my childhood are intertwined with my time at the state fair. Every now and then, I’ll find myself ordering the delicious Malone’s taffy to take me back. I’ll even send a tin or two to those friends who experienced those lifelong memories with me. Come to think of it, I know a few people who may be getting fair taffy for Christmas or their fortieth birthday.
The great news is that taffy ordering season is upon us. Online orders for the most delicious taffy you will ever find are now through January. Christmas cans are only available November and December. Do yourself a favor and order a can or two. You will not regret it. After all, a little piece of the fair brings out the child in everyone. And isn’t that what we all need?
Malone’s Taffy out of Byram, Mississippi, can be ordered from http://www.malonescandy.com. It is simply, the most delicious and delectable treat from fall well into the holidays.