Loving September

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year.” As you read these seven words, I’m guessing you hummed the Edward Pola and George Wyle tune, first sung by Andy Williams in 1963. While many consider the season of kids jingle-belling to be the most wonderful of all, I’m not ready for Christmas to be upon us yet. Instead, I’m casting my vote for an Ohio September as the most wonderful time of the year.

Why? It’s September, and if my children were younger, I’d admit that shipping them off to school each day brought a semblance of calm and order to my life after long summers punctuated by the words of the familiar refrain: “There’s nothing to do.” While the carefree days of summer have their place, the return of a daily rhythm is a gift to parents.

It’s September, and the Cleveland Indians are playing some good baseball, having won five of their last seven games. While the odds aren’t great for them to play in October, there is still that statistical possibility, and we continue to hope that a couple of other teams will fall apart.

We made our first and last visit of the year to Progressive Field this week, spending six hours at the ballpark as the Tribe came up with two wins on a chilly afternoon. My commitment to avoid wearing socks until October was strongly tested, but my toes survived the challenge. I’ll be sad when the radio voices of Tom Hamilton and Jim Rosenhaus are silenced again until April.

It’s September, a month marking the return of football. I must have been born with a football-watching genetic marker, for I’ve been a fan from an early age. Many years as band parents ingrained our Friday night activity patterns, so when the Arrows are home, we head to Community Stadium. Here’s a suggestion for the powers-that-be: reduce the size of the reserved seat section, as the cheers of the crowd would be more effective without the large patches of empty seats in the middle of the bleachers. Just saying . . . Go Arrows!

We’re hooked on the Ashland University football games as well, and had a great time at the recent home opener under the lights. I always jump at the first few cannon blasts of the year, but we’re glad when the artillery has plenty of work. Here’s hoping the AU Eagles have a successful season, as I’m afraid our Buckeyes may have rough going this year.

What can I say about the “not-for-profit” NFL? I’m long over the awe I experienced when meeting the Buffalo Bills’ Cookie Gilchrist in person at the age of nine, having talked my way into a father-son banquet at church. Between the Bills and the Browns, my winning percentage has been pitiful in recent years, and I’m tempted each September to ignore the call of the gridiron and spend my Sunday afternoons in other endeavors – naps come to mind. Yet somehow, I get roped in one more time, as this may be the year they’ll go all the way, or at least win more than they lose. While I know Mary Shelley wasn’t thinking about football, the author of Frankenstein recognized the truth of September: “The beginning is always today.”

If the world of sports in September is depressing, residents of Ashland County have one consolation: it’s September, and the fair is in full swing tomorrow. I can’t wait to take the lovely Madelyn Simone for our annual visit, viewing the perfectly groomed animals, riding the rides across the midway, and consuming fair food to my heart’s content. No calorie counting during fair week.

For thirty-five years, my Septembers were filled with planning for the ramped-up activity associated with a Salvation Army Christmas. With that particular responsibility removed from my plate, I’ve discovered that September is quite a good month of its own. I haven’t read Jerry Spinelli’s book, “Love, Stargirl,” but as the days of September drop like leaves from the trees around us, his words ring true: “Live today. Not yesterday. Not tomorrow. Just today. Inhabit your moments. Don’t rent them out to tomorrow.” Here’s wishing you a great September!

Going to the Fair

As freshly landed immigrants to Ashland in 2006, Larry and I were introduced to the Ashland County Fair by way of the Parade of Bands, the time-honored Sunday afternoon event featuring the Ashland University band and area high school marching bands. Not knowing what to expect, we climbed into the grandstands at the fairground to support our son as he snapped to attention in the percussion section of the Ashland Arrows band.

As the strains of the National Anthem were lifted up by hundreds of young musicians that long-ago afternoon, I stood with tears in my eyes, sensing a confirmation that our move to Ashland County had brought us home. So on the third Sunday of September, 2013, we let the Browns muddle their way through the game with Baltimore without our cheers, and headed to the fairgrounds for what has become our own traditional fair experience, beginning with the Parade of Bands. The AU Eagles proudly led their younger brothers and sisters down the pavement, and the guest conductor signaled the snare drum roll. In unison, the notes soared into the air: “O say can you see. . .”

With tears glistening in my eyes once again, my thoughts went to our granddaughter, the lovely Madelyn Simone. “This,” I said to myself, “is what I want Madelyn to know about our world, our community.” I want her to know that brothers and sisters can stand shoulder to shoulder, singing these familiar words and celebrating our identity as Americans.  I want her to know the delight of chatting with friends for a few minutes as we meander through the fairgrounds, of seeing people from all walks of life and remembering the ways our lives have touched each other over the years.

So that’s why we were singing “We went to the animal fair, the birds and the beasts were there” as Madelyn and I drove south on Claremont Avenue on Thursday. While we didn’t see any of the monkeys or elephants mentioned in that song at our fair, we saw plenty of birds and beasts as we toured the various barns and tents on the fairgrounds. We saw cows and horses, sheep and pigs, goats and rabbits, but we had to return to the raucous poultry barn and tent three times, for Madelyn was fascinated with the chickens, roosters and turkeys. I was taken in as well by the markings on the birds and the names used to describe them. Gold and Silver Penciled Hamburg hens, Golden Polish cockerels, the White Lace Red Cornish, the Barred Rock pullet, and the Feather Leg bantam – I’ll never look at a chicken in the same way again.

As with any three-year-old, we had our public drama, as the green balloon she wouldn’t let me tie to her wrist sailed into the sky, soon joined by another child’s red one – a hard way to learn that actions have consequences. But that brief meltdown was healed by the gift of another balloon (thank you), and Madelyn continued her exploration of the fair with her typical cheery greetings to young and old. “Hi, I’m Madelyn. What you doing?”

Of course, her eagle eyes had spied the rides on our way into the fair, and I promised we’d return to them once they opened at noon. Barely meeting the 36” minimum for most of the kiddie rides, she quickly got the hang of proving her great height against the measuring stick before climbing on the cars, Ferris wheel, swings, and mini-scrambler. No fear or trepidation in this child – if she was tall enough, she was riding. Her hands-down favorite was the Dragon Wagon, the kid’s roller coaster with the comedic ride operator. He suggested she try out for the wide-eyed scream role in an amusement park movie as the coaster sped around the track for her eighth consecutive ride.

What great fun we had at the fair. Thank you, Ashland County Fair Board, for reminding me once again of the goodness of life, the pride of a community, and the delight of a three-year-old. All that and funnel cakes too. It doesn’t get much better than this.