Plesant Grove Carnie Days

Call me the whitest kid on the block, but I love me some carnies. Growing up, going to the fair was a pretty big deal. We could never afford to actually go or get ride tickets, but my sisters and I would occasionally preform at the annual event and therefore get in for free (there ya go, I was workin' the system from an early age). The depth and breadth of the fair always baffled me. The bright lights and smell of kettle corn, the "World's Smallest Horse" that my mom would never give me $2 to see, the stuffed Tweety Bird bigger than me. It was all so untouchable and awe-inspiring.

There is something spooky and unsafe about those pack-n-go carnivals. Maybe its the element of danger that I am drawn to, maybe just that childhood yearning to die on a moving heap of steel ride the Ferris Wheel. Either way, after dinner I had rich cheesecake sugar pumping through my veins so Ross and I went to check out the Pleasant Grove Strawberry Days carnival. After my years of associating with Utahans I heard to many good things about festival, I needed to sort out fact from fiction.



I've found that as an adult, new things inspire awe. Instead of gazing up at the magical carnival lights aglow in the fresh summer evening air, I stared at the dozen+ rides crammed into this tiny city park. That is awe-inspiring folks. I'm still kind scratching my head at it all.

The whole park was crammed full, and I am beginning to wonder if I will ever get used to so many people in one place at one time. Thanks Grenada.

One of the famed things I HAD to do at Strawberry Days was to try out the strawberries and cream. Okay, that's do-able.

Or, so I thought.

On the way out I saw the line for the infamous strawberries and cream.



Excuse me?! You cannot even see the end of the line before the switchback. And I swear as quickly as those strawberries and cream truck employees were crankin' 'em out, the line was not even moving. We would have been in line for probably at least 40 minutes.

So please, Utahans, anyone, can you tell me what is so magical about the fabled strawberries and cream that would compel me to wait in line that long? Is it for the experience? Tradition? A secret ingredient of crack cocaine?