I have never been what you’d call the Chenango County Fair’s biggest fan, although I must admit the annual event has grown on me over the past three years (spent covering the fair for our hometown daily). In the past (as an adult, at least), fair week meant it was time to head for the hills, so to speak, and I did everything in my power to avoid the noise, dust, crowds and confusion. I would – no joke – stock up on foodstuffs, a brand new book or two, any other essentials and literally lock my door.

What can I say? Put me in front of a crowd, on a stage, with a guitar in hand, and I’m fine. Put me in the midst of said crowd and ... well, it’s just not my cup of tea.

Two and a half years as a staff writer with The Evening Sun, however, has gone a long way toward changing my opinion of the controlled chaos that is the Chenango County Fair, now (unbelievably) in its 165th year.

My how the time flies.

Not that I really engage in those activities the fair is best known for; I don’t think I’ve ever seen a tractor pull, have no urge to watch people demolish already demolished vehicles as a form of entertainment and rarely break down and gorge on fried dough, cotton candy and other ... err ... fair fare (sorry, had to sneak that one in there).