Over 20 years ago we bought a 100-year-old Victorian in Blue Lake. People called it the Red Lady, and it was a glamorous lady but in deep distress, needing a major renovation. We hired a Madhatter fix-it crew of unlicensed contractors, and they went at it: foundation, electrical, plumbing, painting, roof. You name it, we threw money at it

Eight months into our Moby Dick project, and a long way from being finished, I’d had enough of our crew’s hijinks and booted them off our project. They’d done a lot of good work but it was all too crazed and way too slow. It felt like throwing the buyers and sellers out of the temple.

But then I was left wondering if we’d ever finish this renovation or would we first go bankrupt, get a divorce or spontaneously combust from stress. My wife and I was spinning like broken tops.

Then, as I read the Times-Standard, I realized it was the last day of the Humboldt County Fair, one of my favorite events all year. It’s the only day I gamble, betting crazily on horses and mules and yelling and laughing at the finish line. I needed to go to the Fair this year more than ever and figured if I just made it into the fair grounds, something good would happen.

So I jumped into the car with my four-year-old son Jesse.

“We’re going to the fair, Jesse!”

“How many rides can we go on today?” Jesse asked

“As many as you can handle. But you know you’re too young for some.”

“But the Ferris wheel is ok, right?

“Yes, the Ferris Wheel, that’s fine. But I get to bet on the horses, too,

OK? ”

“OK, dad.”

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When we arrived, we made a beeline for the Ferndale racing grandstand. It’s over 100 years old, all weathered wood and soul and the ghost horses of races past, the Wrigley Field of racetracks. We sat up high in the grandstand, a soft breeze blowing, looking out at the rolling hills, a white church steeple and a lone hawk swooping. Sitting next to my son, cheering on those B-grade horses and mules, while sipping a beer, made the madness of renovating our house feel a million miles away.

After a few horse races that yielded no wins, we walked into the fair munching on fresh kettle corn. As we strolled past a palm reader, sitting in her blue wooden box, she called out, “Read your future? Find your true path?”

I walked up to her and said “If you can you find me a good and honest contractor I’ll pay you $100 on the spot.”

Oh yes, I can do that for you sir, no problem,” she said but I kept walking.

Then we heard over the loudspeaker:

“Ladies and gentlemen get ready for the 8th wonder of the world. In two minutes the Human Cannonball will be shot out of this cannon and fly through air like a rocket ship! Be ready to be amazed!”

“What’s a human cannonball?” Jesse asked.

“Well, I’ve never seen one but I guess a guy will be blasted out of that cannon and land in that net way over there.”

“Will it hurt? Will he be blowed up?”

“Gee, I hope not. We’ll see.”

I didn’t think it would be much of anything, maybe some kind of cheap magic trick. I’d never seen a Human Cannonball before.

Then we heard, “5-4-3-2-1,” an enormous explosion and this guy wearing a sparkly blue helmet blasted out of that cannon, flew over a corndog stand and dropped into a net 200 feet away. He jumped up with his hands waving wildly and everybody exploded in applause, including Jesse and me.

“Dad that was so cool! When I get big I want to do that.”

“We’ll see. First you have to go to kindergarden.”

“But after that!”

Then we went to ride the Ferris Wheel. As we reached the pinnacle it stopped and we swayed in the cool breeze. We could hear all the screams and laughs floating up to us.

Jesse looked intently down at all the spinning rides and flashing lights, his tongue swishing on his lips back and forth, back and forth, lost in thought.

“Dad, are you old enough to ride the Hammer or the Gravitron?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Will I be old enough some day to ride the Hammer?”

“Yes, you will, someday.”

“Dad, did you ever ride the Hammer?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Then why don’t you ride it now?”

“Well, it scares me and makes me dizzy.”

“Does the Hammer scare the people who ride it now?”

“Yes, I think it does.”

His tongue kept swishing back and forth as he thought some more.

“Dad, why do people do things that scare them?”

I started to laugh.

“No, really … why do people do things that scare them?”

“I guess they want a thrill and for their stomach to be tickled.”

“Their stomach tickles when they’re scared?”

“Yeah, at least it does for me.”

“Do you think the Human Cannonball is scared?”

“Yes, I’m sure he is, even though he’s done it hundred times, But in a way, I think he knows he’s flying for all us who can’t. Do you know what I mean?”

“Ah, yeah, well, I’m not sure. Dad, I want to come back to the fair tomorrow!”

“Well, this is the last day so we’ll have to wait a whole year.”

“I wish there was always the fair, Dad.”

I gave my little boy a hug.

“Me too, Jesse. Me too.”

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Jeff DeMark is a writer and musician.