A Night at the Acton Fall Fair.

Quick Robin! To the Beer Tent!

I’m really committing to the denim, eh?

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The Acton Fall Fair is celebrating its 110th anniversary this weekend.

You’d never know it though.

Now, that isn’t to say that Acton doesn’t have history worth breaking out the leather jackets and tanning oil for - it absolutely does.

But when the third weekend in September finally arrives and you make your way to the fairgrounds… I mean, how else to really explain it?

Time seems to stand still.

You’re not bombarded with capital-C commercialism in the same way you might have been a month earlier, if you took the train to Toronto, to The Ex. A sense of corporate claustrophobia, matched only by the price of pretzels.

You’re not worried about rent, car payments or the housing crisis. That looming work deadline, which will arrive, whether you want it to or not, come Monday morning.

There is, almost simply, just the Fair.

The smell of the deep-friers, the ringing of the midway in your ears, the Acton Citizen’s Band, providing a soundtrack that can’t be beat.

The beer tent line, stretching out all the way to the quarry and back again.

Remnants of agriculture past, with livestock on display, far more photogenic than I could ever hope to be. The excitement of the tractor pull.

The sun, dipping below the Ferris wheel. Warmth, replaced by an early-fall chill. Neon, taking the place of natural light.

Shades of deep blue and blinding pink.

Summer, in the only way it can, saying goodbye.

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Fall fairs, of which you’ll find far-and-wide across Ontario at this time of year, were born out of necessity as Canada came of age in the mid-to-late 19th-century.

Local farmers, gathering together, to discuss both their concluding harvest season and how somebody dared to bring lesser lasagna to the last church social - creating a rift that will, no doubt, outlast the space-time continuum itself.

And while, outside of the livestock presentation and the arguments over proper pasta dish etiquette, of which you won’t find much of anymore, there is a sense of community that continues to thrive.

I arrived on Friday night, earlier than I usually would, not expecting to see much besides hopped-up little kids and their exhausted parents. Reminders of a different time, when to stay up until eight because you were going to the Fair (on a weeknight no less!) was a big deal.

Instead, I ran into countless people I knew, some, who I hadn’t seen in years, a decade or more.

We caught up on old times, where we were now, glad to spend just a moment or two in the company of someone who was polite enough to stop and say hello. If understanding that, come the end of the night, chances were low that we would see it through.

Would we actually get together for that drink, that dinner, make an effort to hang out more frequently? No, probably not.

It doesn’t matter, though.

In the moment, after all, it never does.

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Generation-after-generation, from the preceding, to the next up, all carry themselves with a similar energy - whether they realize it or not.

They believe the Fair to be uniquely theirs, an experience they share alone with their friends and family, not realizing that they are, in fact, sharing it with everyone. An annual high school reunion that, just so happens, to include the entire town.

The seasons will change soon.

Oh sure, summer may hang on for a while yet, as it always does but in time, fall will arrive in earnest, making it far too much of a gamble to meander through the fairgrounds after sundown in loose-fitting denim (see above).

And we will all move onto whatever life throws at us, far more complicated then deciding on whether or not to go all-in for a midway stuffed toy, even though the dog will tear it apart the second he sees it (I never learn my lesson).

But come next September, we’ll be back with memories to share and stories to tell.

And everyone will want to know just what you’ve been up to (like going out on a limb and starting something like Off-Balance: thank you again, sincerely, for all your support, it means so much).

Because they care.

Even if you only see them at the Fair.