OK everybody, here we are at my most favorite time of year – fair season.

I mean, OK, it can be an exhausting day. You get hot and dusty, and sort of overwhelmed with sights, sounds, smells and crowds. But, oh, who am I kidding? All worth it, it’s the fair!

Midcoast resident Heather D. Martin wants to know what’s on your mind; email her at heather@heatherdmartin.com.

The thing about the fairs in Maine, much like the ones in the Midwest, is that they are agricultural fairs. Sure, sure, there is a midway with rides and games and cotton candy, but those things built up around the original nucleus – the farm. Animals and vegetables, crafts and canned goods.

Walk through the fairgrounds and take in the sights. You’ll see dairy cows batting their Disney princess eyes, fluffy sweet sheep snuggled up together, freshly bathed goats being milked, tiny little piglets frisking around, massive draft horses dozing as they await their turn to pull – and the people.

For every animal there (with apologies to the chickens, ducks, rabbits and llamas – you guys are great, too, but the paragraph was running long) there are the humans who care for them. Not just on fair days, but every day,

To be a farmer is to dedicate your life to the farm. You don’t just take your work home with you, your work is your home. It’s not glamorous. There are no personal assistants rushing to get you a latte or a bagel, no lunches out at fancy restaurants on a corporate expense account, no corner offices. Instead, there is poop. Lots of poop.

Animals have to be fed and crops have to be tended every day. Even if you have the flu, your back hurts or you just “need a day.” Whatever the weather – scorching heat wave or freezing cold, pouring rain or swarms of bugs. No matter what, you get up and take care of the farm.

There is something about that sort of devotion that leaves a mark.

Watch the faces of the kiddos as they lead their animals around the ring for the judge. There is a relationship there. As the judge nods their approval over the animal’s health and well-being, there is a swell of quiet pride. No boasting, no sense of entitlement. This is not a lifestyle that has any room for that. Caring for a farm humbles you, in the best possible sense of the word. The care they have bestowed being seen and recognized is validation that truly means something.

That’s what the fairs are really all about, a chance for all that hard and often thankless work on full, ribbon-winning display. Well, that and fried dough.

Then, too, there is something in it for those of us on the other end of that equation. As we walk the fair we are reminded of, and reconnected to, a way of life and a way of being that for thousands upon thousands of years was the only way of life.

Everything else, from big corporations to boutique gift “shoppes,” all that is horribly, horribly recent. The mere blink of an eye in human existence. Fairs sing that ancient connection straight into our psyche.

If we are paying attention, we might also be reminded that should things go pear shaped for the planet, farming will remain one of the few things that will really matter, too. I mean, when the chips are down, which will matter more? Bitcoin? Or a well-grown zucchini?

All of this plus they gather us all together for a giant “everyone welcome” celebration of abundance and bounty. One last carefree summer hurrah and before nights grow long and the weather turns.

So, I have looked up the full list of the fairs this season – including my own “hometown” Blue Hill Fair (on which “Charlotte’s Web” was based) – and I will be strolling the fair, freshly squeezed lemonade in hand.

See you there?