I’m not a fan of summer. To be honest, it’s my least favorite season. People often seem surprised when they hear me say this. The look they sometimes give me would be akin to the response you would most likely get if you mentioned in passing, “The Beatles were the most overrated band in history.”

Seriously, you can’t make a claim like that without having your character called into question. And to think that I grew up in California — the home of the Beach Boys, Coppertone, muscle cars, and the Endless Summer.

But here’s the thing. I grew up in San Francisco, which is about as similar to L.A. as Laurel is to Hardy. You may recall that Mark Twain once said that the coldest winter he ever spent was a summer in San Francisco. Having run feral and short-sleeved over chilly, fog-shrouded hills in June and July, my cheeks cold and rosy, I can assure you that Twain’s utterance was less over-the-top than you might think.

Over the years, I’ve lived in some pretty warm places (Boise, Idaho; Stockton, California; Tehran, Iran — yes, you got that last one right), and I’m pleased to say that I’ve come a long way in acclimating to higher levels of mercury. But I’m still not a fan of summer.

Having established this, it will probably shock you to know that one of my favorite months of the year — the one that has been given the dubious honorific of “Dog Days” — is August. Incredulous as you may be, I can explain this incongruity with two words: The Fair.

August is Fair Month, which makes it a cherished four weeks on my calendar. To me, August’s only other saving grace is the occasional scent of Autumn that you get early in the morning as the weeks go by. But otherwise, take the Fair out of August and what you’re left with is parched grass, wilted gardens, dust, grasshoppers, and sticky nights without A/C. Thanks, but no thanks. August makes you tired.

I’m sure you can by now appreciate how disappointed I am that our Skagit County Fair (along with other regional fairs) has been cancelled due to the pandemic. I understand the necessity, but it breaks my heart. At my age, there are only so many Fairs left until my Great Reward, and I would be thrilled to discover on that blessed occasion that the Pearly Gates are actually a fairground entrance. That would be nice.

My wife’s and my Fair Month begins with the Stanwood-Camano Fair, which is so quaintly endearing that you just want to slip it into your pocket and take it home with you (I settle instead for a tote bag with a logo’d sticker of the current year’s theme). For us, the Stanwood-Camano Fair is an annual opportunity to get closer to the life of a community just outside our own, but not, as it turns out, all that much different in terms of how we celebrate where we live. And that, my friends, is how I describe a good fair. It’s a celebration of where you live.

How do I love the Fair? Let me count the ways.

I love seeing families freed from the tyranny of daily routine and being together in the moment. You just know there are memories being made, and I can’t help but think back to my own — the years when our children were little and we would take them to the Santa Clara County Fair. For several years I was a judge for the Men’s BBQ Contest at that fair — for which I received free parking, “run of the fair” for myself and my family, and $25 worth of concession coupons. It’s the best job I’ve ever had in my life. I’m serious. Did I mention I really like BBQ?

I love the sounds of the Fair — the background hum of generators; the mechanized cacophony of the midway with speakers blaring Tom Petty’s “I Won’t Back Down;” screams of kids on roller coasters; the pulsing of a mainstage tribute band; the lowing, grunts, squeals, and nickering of livestock; and always the buzz of animated conversation. For some folks this could be sensory overload. For me it’s the ambient soundtrack of August.

I love the smell of the Fair. I haven’t been able to eat cotton candy since I was a child, and I cringe at the thought of my grandkids consuming spun sugar on empty stomachs — but I love the sweet syrupy smell of it that punctuates the base odors of sawdust, hay, manure, sunscreen, sweat, and fried food. It takes me to my olfactory happy place. And there’s no memory like olfactory memory.

And speaking of Fair Food, which I love for the pure indulgence of it all, Fairs represent the only time in the course of twelve months that I consume certain otherwise forbidden fruits: elephant ears (cinnamon sugar and butter, if you please — I roll old school), corn dogs, and funnel cakes — and I’m not above pilfering somebody else’s onion blossom if given the opportunity, so long as fry sauce is involved. My wife and I always give careful consideration to what we select for lunch or dinner, and we generally opt for whatever ethnic offerings are available. Stuff just tastes better at the Fair.

I love talking to 4-H and FFA kids about the livestock they’re showing, and what it’s like to raise an animal knowing that it may no longer be yours by the time the Fair ends. I leave those encounters feeling a little better about the future.

I love looking at the crafts and artwork on display (and out of the sun), and I’m always reminded of the wealth of talent that our friends and neighbors bring to the Fair for our admiration. My wife and I always vote on our favorite quilt, and we look at every single photograph, drawing, painting, carving, construction, etc. on display. I love the fact that our Skagit County Fair is small enough that we can be this thorough, but large enough to offer such an amazing diversity of exhibits.

I love the entertainment, and the fact that your ticket is the cover charge for any act you want to catch, from a local singer/songwriter to a Doors cover band. When we bring our grandsons, we make it a point to attend a magic show. I’m a huge fan of The Magic of Sterling. Sterling (who hails straight outta Lynden) is like the love child of David Copperfield and Michael Jackson, and his act always ends with an uplifting message whose meaning resonates a little more each year with the grandsons. Whether you come to laugh, dance, or be amazed, there is guaranteed to be an act that will deliver. Last year the Fair created a special venue for LatinX musical acts, and the groove was as delightful as it was relentless.

I would be remiss without mentioning the vendors and miscellaneous exhibiters at the Fair. Through their presence I’ve learned about underwater robotics, the care and habits of raptors and guinea pigs, the secret to a true Scottish shortbread, the intensity of barrel racing, and the healing power of crystals and tie dye. And to date, the Fair remains the only venue in which I’ve beheld chicken racing at one moment, and the clash of mock combat among armor clad members of The Society for Creative Anachronism at the next. It’s enough to make P.T. Barnum swoon in sheer delight.

But what I love most about the Fair is the sense of community we experience through it. In the course of a year there is simply no other venue that brings together such a diverse throng of our fellow Skagitonians. And I have to say, I really like us. I thank the Fair for that annual epiphany. I’m missing that this year, as we self-quarantine in response to a novel virus, and I look forward to making up for its absence with a heart grown fonder and more grateful as a result.

You can take the boy out of the Fair, but you can’t take the Fair out of the boy — and while fall will no doubt remain my favorite season, there are a few weeks in August when I become the youth of a thousand summers.

That’s the magic of The Fair.