So It Goes

“The sink,” my four-year-old said.

We had just finished playing with the sand that shone with different colours and, depending on the height, either showed a blue lake or a hill or even a snow covered mountain.  It was fun and I could have kept creating and sculpting for another half hour.  Too bad that everyone else’s hands in that particular sandpit were a fraction of the size of mine.  This was fun and to think that normally I would have strolled right on past.

When you are four, there is much to do.  We had a Paw Patrol show to see and to dance to. There was the clown and the fireman. We had a cow to milk.  We had a teeny tiny baby chicken to hold. We had bees to marvel at. We had animals to pet.  We had bubbles to blow.  We had Lego bricks to put together and a train flag to raise and wave every time you wanted your grandmother to stop the stroller she was pushing.

We also had to stop every policeman we met and tell them we were learning about them in pre-prep.  They seemed pleased, unlike the one who looked slightly aghast when I asked if he knew where the flying pigs were. (They aren’t at the Ekka this year, by the way.)

It’s been a while since I’ve seen the Ekka through children’s eyes.  Sure, I’ve taken my own children and I’ve been myself as a child and I have lots of happy memories of doing both.  But here I was again, re-thinking my perspective.

Normally a day at the Ekka for me is about the fashion parade and the ring events and the wood chopping.  I like to sample the tastes in the Woolworths pavilion.  I like to check out the leather goods.  I like to watch the fireworks.  I like to bump into people I don’t expect to see. I like.  I like.

So what is it about the Ekka that brings joy and excitement to what is now a fourth generation from my family, at least? It’s probably a combination of all things for all people.

Next year, I might take my dad, who at 92 can play in that fascinating sand pit and raise his own stop and go flag.

- Linda Muller