The Perfect Formula When I was a kid, each summer brought Strawberry Days, the celebra-
tion of what was once a viable farming enterprise in the valley. Resi-
dents from nearby towns gathered for the annual parade of floats, horses,
fire trucks, and the Strawberry Days queen and her court. Afterward,
farmers sold produce, especially large, juicy strawberries. Homemak-
ers displayed crafts along with delectable home-baked pies and breads.
The traveling carnival opened its amusement park rides and concession
stands. But the feature attraction was always the rodeo.
For three nights, a professional rodeo circuit with bucking broncos,
calf roping, bull riding, and clowns played to full bleachers of specta-
tors. In the background, volunteers served up a steady stream of soda,
hamburgers, hot dogs, french fries, ice cream, and candy bars.
For some reason, my father was always in charge of the two re-
freshment stands situated at opposite ends of the arena. Each night,
while spectators filed out, I helped move unsold food and drink, grills,
and ice chests to be kept in the larger of the two stands until the fol-
lowing evening. Because the stand was a simple wooden structure with
minimum security, someone always needed to stay on the premises each
night. As compensation, any food or drink consumed was on the house.
I desperately wanted to be that overnight person and experience the
culinary euphoria of eating my fill of rodeo fare. Such food was not
served at home, and its allure was too tempting. Notwithstanding my
best lobbying efforts, the overnight vigil always fell to an older brother.
I was “too young” became the patent answer. Undeterred, I bided my
time and, while doing farm work, schemed about what I would do when
my turn came.
Then one year, as we pulled onto the arena grounds to set up for the
evening, I saw it—a newly built refreshment stand with brick walls,
lockable metal doors, serving windows, and shutters. An overnight sen-
try was no longer needed. I slumped back in the seat saying nothing.
When the rodeo ended, I went about moving food and supplies just as
before. When finished, my father turned to me and asked if I would be
willing to stay overnight—“just to make sure,” he remarked. As long as
the same benefits applied, I responded, count me in.
His parting instructions were to not burn the place down, and then
he left. I waited a few minutes, half-expecting he would return, then
fired up the grill. On tap for the evening was a full night of high-octane