Although it doesn’t make for the prettiest introduction to a story, I would like to start by saying that I love the Indiana State Fair.

Things have changed a bit since I was little, but I have insisted upon going as often as possible all my life. My parents tell me stories of living cattle with Plexiglas sides so kids could see how the stomach system works in the early 80’s, although I don’t remember. They say I was just tickled to learn how things work, but the biggest draw for me has always been the animals.

From the tiniest bantam chicken to the most massive draft horse, I love giving my regards to all the critters that have been prepared all year for the fair. I know kids all over the state have put their time, effort and love into the animals, but I selfishly just want to pet as many as I can.

I may be 25 years old now, but my childish glee at feeling a piglet’s prickly hair or being sniffed by a sheep has not faded. My younger brother has long since decided he will never go with me again. He wants to ride the rides, eat the fair food and go home. I want to say hello to each and every animal in each and every barn. For him, my method of enjoying the fair is tedious, not to mention smelly. For me, his method of enjoying the fair misses the entire point.

My parents, however, have consistently enjoyed going with me. My mom just likes walking around, getting to be outside and spending time with me. My dad likes taking pictures of all the extraordinary-looking chickens and snapping photos of kids petting horses or eating huge ears of corn on the cob. Amazingly, his method of fair-going actually takes longer than my own.

This year, I took a friend with me who had never been. I felt a little bad that his view of the fair would be skewed by my one-sided approach, but I was also excited to introduce him to one of my favorite times of the year. The last time he had been to any fair, he admitted, was in fourth grade at the Madison County Fair. All he remembers is elephant ears and semi-empty barns. Needless to say, at least to me, he was converted. I firmly believe he will be going back, potentially yet this year since we failed to see Coco the colossal colon (I wish it were a joke, but it is real).

The other part of going to the State Fair that I have come to love is my family’s new tradition of parking in Broadripple and riding our bikes to the fairgrounds. We unload the bikes, gather up our things and begin to pedal. It takes about 20 minutes to get there along the Monon Trail, as it is almost three miles, but it is undoubtedly less stressful than finding a lot, paying for it, fighting your way in and then fighting back out at the end of the day. Bike parking is free and earns a discounted admission price. The trail is well-shaded and smooth. It makes the whole process so much more laid-back.

I have been to other fairs, of course. When I lived in Massachusetts, I made the trek to the Big E, the Eastern States Exposition. In the northeast, the small states come together for a fair that is held in western Massachusetts. My friend Sasha and I drove the one-and-a-half hours to the fairgrounds. We paid our $15 admission. We sauntered in slathered in sunblock, ate some fair food (which includes maple candy in that part of the world) and rode a few rides. I felt tremendously let down. With multiple states contributing, there were still so few animals I felt as if I had gone to a flea market, not a fair. I didn’t get to hold a tiny chick or pet the nose of a draft horse. I didn’t learn about raising grain. I didn’t get to feed a sheep or milk a cow. I will never go back there.

After getting to spend most of the week at the Decatur County Fair in July, I feel my understanding of the fair process has been enhanced. I now frequently joke that everything I know about livestock I learned at the 4-H Fair, which, unfortunately for me, may be closer to the truth than I would like to admit. I suppose I will just have to keep learning.

When I lived in Anderson on a quarter-acre lot in a subdivision, I always wanted to stay in the State Fair livestock barns forever. If it wouldn’t have been both rude and creepy, I would have curled up on a stack of bailed hay and just stayed. This year was different. Finally, after all my years of yearning to be a farm girl, I get to come home to sheep, goats and alpacas. I have access to the family’s hay loft, where it wouldn’t be creepy to sleep. Driving home at the end of the day felt like truly coming home, heading right to where I belong.

Of course, that won’t save my family from future trips to the fair.