Rediscovering the Heart of County Fairs: From Harvest Celebrations to Commercial Spectacles

   

Rediscovering the Heart of County Fairs: 

From Harvest Celebrations to Commercial Spectacles

As the leaves begin to turn and the air fills with the scent of autumn, fair season sweeps across California and much of the United States.

It's a time when communities come together to celebrate the fruits of their labor—literally and figuratively. But what exactly is a fair?

At its core, a county or regional fair is a harvest festival, a joyful acknowledgment of the abundance produced by local people and their land. Whether it's peaches, nectarines, apples, pears, pumpkins, squash, wheat, corn, sheep, goats, cows, pigs, chickens, rabbits, milk, cheeses, walnuts, almonds, pecans, or homemade goods competing for blue ribbons, fairs honor the hard work of the summer. They showcase trades like plowing, hay baling, sheep shearing, weaving, and spinning, alongside regional specialties such as logging, mining, manufactured goods, and even skills like handling a team of draft horses.

This vision paints a picture of community pride and connection to the earth. Yet, as one longtime fair enthusiast reflects, modern fairs often stray from these roots, prioritizing commercial elements over local traditions.

Drawing from personal experiences and a deeper look at the structure of California's fairs, this article explores the evolution of these events, the challenges they face, and the potential to reclaim their original spirit—now enriched with tales of generational involvement, from sleeping in barns with show animals to family traditions centered on draft horse pulls.

The Personal Touch: A Lifelong Love for Fairs

For many, fairs are more than just annual events—they're woven into the fabric of life. Take the story of someone who's been deeply involved for years: "It's fair week locally, one I sadly have no plans to attend this year. That's odd for me, someone who for so many years was active in 4-H, looking forward to it each year. I showed rabbits, sheep, goats, and pigs in judging and showmanship competitions. Later, I served as a judge for photography exhibits, volunteered to help watch the art displays, and even worked booths for local companies I was employed by."

This narrative captures the essence of what fairs can mean on a personal level. Through programs like 4-H, young people learn responsibility, animal husbandry, and craftsmanship, beaming with pride as they present their projects. As adults, that involvement evolves into judging, volunteering, and supporting community businesses.

It's a cycle of giving back, fostering a sense of belonging and continuity. But when fairs lose sight of these elements, the experience can feel disconnected, leaving even dedicated participants feeling sidelined.

Adding layers to this are multigenerational stories that highlight how fairs once fostered even deeper bonds. One such account recalls a father's memories of high school days in FFA (Future Farmers of America), raising and showing pigs: "In those days, the kids would sleep in the barns with their animals." This practice, common in earlier eras, allowed youth to tend to their livestock around the clock, building unbreakable connections and teaching vigilance.

Even earlier tales from the same family evoke a great-grandfather who farmed with draft horses, competed in pulls, and held a record for the heaviest weight ever pulled in his association's history. Long after tractors replaced horses on farms, he made it a tradition to buy tickets for the entire extended family on the Saturday of the draft horse pulls at the fair. They'd tour the barns, chat with owners, inspect the majestic animals, and gather to watch the competition, where he'd critique techniques and explain the intricacies to the family.

These anecdotes echo a time when fairs were intimate family affairs, passing down knowledge and heritage. Draft horse pulls, once staples at county fairs until the 1930s and reintroduced in recent decades, symbolize raw power and skill—events like California's Nevada County Draft Horse Classic, started in 1987 to revive old state fair traditions, continue this legacy.

FFA and 4-H programs have long been central to this, teaching life lessons through animal projects that culminate in fair showings.

The Shift Toward Commercialization

Unfortunately, many fairs today are seen primarily as carnivals filled with rides, cotton candy, and novelties like fried Mars bars.

This shallow perception ignores the real purpose: celebrating local agriculture, skills, and culture. In California, this drift is exacerbated by the governance structure. While some might think fairs fall under the University of California, Davis's Department of Agriculture, they're actually overseen by the California Department of Food and Agriculture (CDFA), through its Fairs and Expositions Branch.

Many operate as District Agricultural Associations (DAAs), state entities with boards appointed by the governor, not locally elected. Fair managers, often state employees, may be transferred between fairs every few years, preventing them from developing a deep appreciation for local flavors and traditions

This top-down approach can lead to a preference for commercial vendors over local groups and organizations. Reduced state funding has forced fairs to rely more on revenue from big-ticket attractions, further eroding the community focus. UC Davis does contribute through Cooperative Extension programs, supporting 4-H exhibits and agricultural education, but the overall system often feels detached from grassroots input.

Nationwide, this trend isn't unique to California. From the Iowa State Fair's butter sculptures to Texas's iconic Big Tex, fairs blend tradition with spectacle. However, the balance tips toward entertainment when economic pressures mount, turning what should be a harvest thanksgiving into a generic amusement park experience—potentially diminishing the educational and familial aspects that once defined them, like those barn-side vigils or expert-guided horse pull viewings.

But the true spirit of fairs reaches far beyond 19th-century America. The word "fair" derives from the Latin feria, meaning "holy day" or religious feast, where ancient communities gathered for worship and trade—as early as biblical times around 588 BC, when merchants assembled in places like Tyre for commerce and exchange.

In medieval Europe (roughly 5th–15th centuries), fairs blossomed into vibrant seasonal events that fused harvest thanksgivings, saints' day observances (such as Michaelmas in autumn, marking the end of the agricultural year), and regional trade markets.

After the hard labor of haying or grain reaping, villagers and distant merchants converged on village greens or trade routes to barter livestock, handmade goods, wool, spices, and tools; share communal feasts; compete in skills; and renew social ties.

These gatherings often echoed pre-Christian pagan harvest rituals woven into Christian traditions, centering on gratitude for the land's bounty and pride in local craftsmanship—echoes that resonate today in blue-ribbon exhibits, animal shows, and family draft horse rituals.

Reclaiming the Original Vision

Despite these challenges, there's hope for renewal. Organizations like the California Fairs Alliance advocate for greater local autonomy and resources to emphasize agricultural and cultural elements

Some fairs still excel at highlighting regional uniqueness—think chainsaw carvings at Northern California's Redwood Empire Fair or massive pumpkin displays at the Fresno County Fair.

By prioritizing local exhibitors, educational programs, and community involvement, fairs can recapture their role as social glue, where stories are swapped, skills are passed down, and everyone indulges in wholesome excess.

For those who've drifted away, like our fair veteran missing this year's event, perhaps it's time to revisit and advocate for change.

What if more voices called for manager stability, increased local board input, and a renewed focus on the harvest—including reviving or emphasizing traditions like draft horse events and hands-on youth experiences? Fairs could once again become vibrant celebrations of abundance, not just fried treats.

In the end, fairs remind us of our connection to the land and each other. Whether through a prize-winning rabbit, a blue-ribbon pie, or a family's cherished draft horse ritual, they offer a chance to honor hard work and build community across generations. As fair season continues, let's push for events that truly reflect the heart of our regions—before the carnival lights overshadow the harvest moon.

RECOMMENDATIONS

As someone who's attended Kern County and other fairs and livestock expos for decades, I've seen how the carnival—while a revenue driver—distracts from the fair's true aim and complicates its smooth running. 

What if fairs asked themselves: Might both the agricultural celebration and the carnival thrive if fully disconnected? 

Schedule the harvest fair in fall, pouring full energy into making it the best showcase of local abundance, youth responsibility, and community heritage possible—free from midway noise or security strains. Then, run a standalone carnival in spring (or another off-season slot) to maximize revenue from rides, games, and crowds without pulling focus from the barns. This separation would honor the ancient roots of harvest thanksgivings while letting each event excel on its own terms, bridging fewer urban-rural divides than boards hope but delivering stronger experiences for everyone.

CURTIS NEIL/ GROK / LibreOffice. October 2025, Updated February 21st, 2026