Post - A Tale of Two Phillys

The SUV lagged with the weight of four adults and as many cases of canned adult beverages that we could pack in the gaps between us. We had just made a quick stop at Walmart where I counted boxes and offered casual insight on what we would need for the week. I veiled the fact that I had no idea what we needed because I did not quite understand where we were going.

For months I had combed through social media hashtags, check-ins and the albums of female strangers who unselfishly or accidentally left their photos public. I was searching for any kind of indication of what I should pack.

"You can just wear some of of my shirts during the day," Nathan had advised me.

"Wait. Like, over a bathing suit?" I asked back, only more confused and thinking of an over-sized tee that one might pull over their head after an afternoon on the Jersey Shore.

"Not really. There's not any swimming."

The two of us sat in the backseat, separated by 30 racks; both still admiring the ring that Nathan had put on my hand a week before. Propped below my feet was a crumpled mess of shorts, tank-tops, sundresses, jean shorts, hair extensions, and flamboyant tassel-earrings, all shoved inside of an over-sized duffel bag along with a prayer that I brought something to allow me to somewhat blend in.

Nathan's brother, Lucas was at the wheel with his girlfriend (now wife) Leah at his side. Despite growing up in south Mississippi, Leah too was a stranger to the strange sight approaching.

It started with RVs, by the hundreds parked festival-style in a sprawling lot on the side of the road. Then came the speckles of color, vibrant and unexpected, popping through blurred trees as we passed. Finally, there were the pickup trucks. Disjointed by the rare sedan, these trucks and our SUV, waited in a patient queue until directed where to park inside of a dusty, crowded lot.

We parked. I opened the door and immediately stepped through the back of the wardrobe and entered Narnia. C.S. Lewis' mythical, literary land came to mind solely for the fact that I was now standing in a world that I had never known to exist before. In every single other way though, this land was different. There was no Ice Queen but instead distant shouts from something called the Ice Truck. The ground was red, not white. The air was sappy, thick and sweet as were many of the smiling passerby's, pulling coolers behind them. This was a different Philadelphia, one positioned 1000 miles away from the urban cobblestones outside our PA apartment. The colors in the parking lot were warm. Above, the trees were lush and protective in their height. Plumes of dirt, kicked up by golf carts, added a golden hue to all of it.

"Hey Alex, watch out for those fire ants."

We had arrived to the Neshoba County Fair.

I've put off writing about The Fair for nearly three years. The task has simply been too steep. It is understood that no one has been able to put it into words properly and I promise, that as an outsider, I too, will fall very short.

In the late 19th century the fairgrounds operated as a kind of agricultural exchange. As it grew in popularity, families and merchants began camping on the site. At first, it was mostly wagons and tents but the need for greater accommodation and shade from the summer sun, led to the planting of oaks and the construction of cabins.

Today the Neshoba County Fair is referred to as "Mississippi's Giant House Party".

This makes sense because the experience is less what one might consider a traditional "Fair" and more of a week-long family, music, food, craft, equestrian, 4-H festival in the woods.

The way I have translated its modern existence to my northeastern friends is like this; "It's kind of like Ocean City. There are two level homes with front porches where children have grown up and families return to each season to sit and drink and laugh. It only lasts about week though, so all the fun and tradition the shore has, is crammed into 9 days. Oh, and there's no ocean, you're in the woods, but there is horse and chair racing."

I quickly then share Fair photos with them, because, once again, words don't really work.

The first thing we did during that first visit was to strap on plastic wristbands. You keep these on all week so that if a fair organizer were to glance at your wrist they, and others will know that your in it for the long haul. The four of us then met Nathan's family at their cabin where a perfectly chilled cocktail and hors d'oeuvres were offered. This is essentially how we began each day, thanks to the divine spoilings of my Mother-In Law, Jamie.

Unlike the Jersey Shore, the interior of Fair cabins are largely unfinished. Aside from a few that have been outfitted with the trimmings of a condo, most are decorated delightfully but equipped with only the bare minimum. The goal is functionality and maximum occupancy. The upper floors of Fair cabins consist of large rooms filled with bunk beds.

That afternoon there was a party planned. In Mississippi, there is always a party to throw. Together, we walked from the Calvert cabin, to the Breland's for a gorgeously decorated, surprise engagement party. One the way, a kaleidoscope of colors, banners and ribbons was exposed. Cabins call attention to themselves with bright paint and customized signs displaying inside jokes that have formed within families over the years. The spread is winding and massive, with over 600 cabins and 200 campers across 60 acres. Every flat surface in sight is used to display equally as colorful political signage.

Taken just a week after we were engaged back in 2017!

The political element of the fair, is what surprised me most. In general, Mississippi is a highly politically engaged state. Early on in my visits I told Nathan how impressed I was by how much his friends knew about their own governmental leadership. Where I grew up in South Jersey, I'd be hard pressed to find a friend who could name a single US Congressperson, much less one who represents NJ.

When Ronald Reagan came to the Neshoba County Fair in 1980 to announce his run for President, he had this to say; “I think you all know without my saying it that Nancy and I have never seen anything like this, because there isn’t anything like this on any place on earth.”

At the Fair, there is a whole day dedicated to Political speeches.

Walking around the grounds, one might find a Congressman, later that week you might be invited to breakfast with him. Perhaps, you'll see NFL royalty tossing around a football with some kids. Those kids might have a number written on their arm in marker. This is so that when he or she is found playing late in the day, neighbors will know which cabin to send them home to. In the afternoon, you could locate a fan blowing mildly cool air within sight of the track. There, the opportunity could open up to place friendly wagers on the horses racing by. In the "Fair Times" you'll see photos of the young women ready to compete for Miss NCF and the week's lineup of musical performances. Both of those events require what is called a "chair race", where young people burst out of a holding gate equipped with lawn chairs to gobble up premium seating locations for that night's performance.

All the while, your right hand is glued to a Styrofoam cup full of whatever beverage has kept you on a steady dose of hazy joy throughout the day.

Nathan was right. I could have totally just worn one of his tee-shirts during the day. The daytime dress is whatever will show the least amount of sweat. If the sweat shows through, no worries, you'll be in fine company. In fact, there's not a whole lot to worry about at the Fair. I can say that this is likely because Jamie Calvert absorbs any and all concern. Her seemingly effortless hosting ability, means that every meal is prepared, snacks are always available back at the cabin and there is a signature "Drink of the Day" offered and displayed on a chalkboard each morning.

At night, the heat lessens slightly and Christmas lights drape across individual pathways of cabins. Friends carry their coolers to each other's front porches or gather by the pavilion. If there is not a concert that night, the idea is to simply let the night take you where it, and the contents of those coolers, decide.

"You either really love the fair, or you really don't," is how it was explained to me, and I REALLY loved it that first trip. The carefree nature of it all provided an ease that I had not found before it and have not during seasons in between. I asked Nathan upon our departure, "Can't we just live like this all the time?"

"That's the thing about it," he replied, "You can't. It wouldn't work. Nine days once a year is what makes it what it is."

Words really do not work to describe Mississippi's Giant house party. I'd say, that you have to come see it for yourself but the New Jersey in me doesn't want to share. We're a little closed off like that. Mississippians are not. Honestly, you could probably just show up unannounced to a Fair cabin and in 30 minutes time you will have been offered a drink, a bed for the week, and an invite to a party that will be thrown in your honor that evening.

By the end of that week you’ll understand something that I am lucky to now know;

Heaven is nine days long, and it is hot as hell.