Summerfest 2009: Utah

I once owned a book dedicated to boosting the imagination and encouraging bored children to constructively pass the time. The projects contained within its pages, though by no means great, were explained and illustrated with such enthusiasm that even the hardened ten-year-old could believe he was in for some serious fun.
"Why not construct ghosts out of leftover gift wrap?" the book would suggest. "Why not decorate your desktop with a school bus made from a brick!"
I thought of this book when I recently attended the annual Logan Summerfest. Here was an event that answered every "Why?" with a resounding, "Why not!"
"Why not grab a hot glue gun and attach seashells to flowerpots?" asked the industrious grandmothers at the craft booths. "Why not crochet a bib for both your puppy and your baby?"

The festival is held each year on a large stretch of green grass near the town's tabernacle. A small stage decorates the middle of the square, which is then in turn surrounded by tents selling funnel cakes, crepes, and roasted corn. Small bands and musical groups would step onto the stage from time to time to sing a country rendition of 'Danny Boy' or display any sort of local talent, such as playing the spoons or tap dancing.
Perhaps the most amazing part of a small fair such as Summerfest is the sheer devotion of the people. From what I've heard, every year is just as dull as the last-- and yet every year, the locals put forth countless hours of effort to ensure the fair keeps coming back.
There is some good to be had from this event. Though I used to feel it was stifling, I like the storybook quality intrinsic of small town life. As I joined the audience sitting on metal folding chairs, I realized that these people are my neighbors; they are the people I see standing in line at the bakery and walking their dogs in the park. The sheriff breezed past me as I sat, followed by the postman and the train conductor. All politely tipped their hats and stepped over Abilene, my pet bunny, whose leash was attached to the leg of my chair.
I returned to the festival later in the evening for the fireworks display. It wasn't much in terms of a spectacle; I've seen more advanced pyrotechnics at the opening of grocery stores. Over the puny pops of Roman candles and the faint hiss of falling rockets, I looked out over my small audience of neighbors and decided if living in a small town like Logan has taught me nothing else, it has taught me to appreciate the small and simple things. I am, at last, happy to be here.
Why not?