With summer widing down, I already miss Friday Flings

Friday Flings are over for the year; a sure sign summer is ending, and the cool of fall and the deep chill of the winter are on the way. I will miss this weekly outdoor festival until it returns next season.

This year I went to nearly every one of the Friday Flings in Palmer. Each one was different, each a taste of the best of Alaska during its all-to-short summer.

The riders on tour buses who unloaded their packed seats from all around the world here each Friday were in for special treat. You see, here they had the chance to experience a small, vital piece of real Alaska, not a tourist trap.

Small as it was, Friday Flings are large in the sense of Alaska flavor. From the lady selling honey with her straw sunbonnet to the music from local artists, a mellow flavor permeated the entire scene.

People sold fresh farm produce, tie-dyed T-shirts, handmade wooden toys, hiking staves, Tundra comics and all kinds of food. The wind carried the sound of clay whistles from under the gazebo at one end and the scents of fresh-cooked food.

The experience ended with live music performed on a tiny stage by all kinds of musicians. Folk and Alaska Native songs by local groups rang out. Stunning jazz guitar works performed by master musician John Cook were a delight for a music nut like myself.

During each performance, perfectionist Josh Fryfogle endlessly made corrections to adjust sound levels. He would walk around the crowd carrying a portable soundboard and tweaking the sound as he moved about. He got it right every time.

Then there are the people who showed up for the music or the food, some just for the quiet pleasure of meeting with friends and enjoying the sun, the sounds and the food. I went for that and a little more — to relax and take in the sights of all the many different people who ebbed and flowed throughout.

City workers in their distinctive orange safety vests moved through with lunch on their minds. A pair of Army captains, stopped by for some kettle corn while small children looked up at them in awe. Mormon missionaries with their tell-tale name tags, black packs, white shirts and ties walked by, taking it all in. Families and children of all ages bring a vibrant noise as parents try to bring calm to the chaos that only children can bring in their own lively style. Seniors sat in front of the stage clearly enjoying the music. Tourists weaved in, festooned with cameras documenting the scene. It was a mingling of everything and everyone under the sun.

People and their dogs came as well. One showstopper was a young woman with a huge Irish wolfhound. It was no stretch to think it was a grey, wire-haired horse (OK, maybe closer to a pony). Both made a musician stop mid-act to say, “Wow! That is one big dog!” My last view of the dog was comical; he and his owner standing behind the booths visiting with a dachshund and its owner. It was a laughable contrast in size.

It’s the little scenes like this that drew me back week after week. That the fling had only 14 or 15 stalls of vendors made it more intimate. Now, I’m not knocking the Alaska State Fair, but I do prefer smaller crowds for many good reasons. I tend to get a little nervous in large crowds thanks to my post-traumatic stress disorder. Besides, I don’t get the chance there just to sit and watch life flow as I did during the flings. I will miss grabbing an order of fries, planting myself on the grass behind the stalls and getting mellow and grooving to the music while watching all the people.

Now that it is over for the season, the parking lot where it was held has fallen silent. The cold rains have returned. The days of sunglasses and T-shirts are giving way to sweaters, fleece and cap; signaling to all the approach of autumn. Now is the time for events only the state fair brings. I will go, but will always have a sweet spot for the Friday Flings.

As I returned to my car parked deeper in town, I looked back at the string of booths at the last fling of the season. The music floated toward me like the soundtrack of a dream. It was a cloudy day, and high over the mountains the clouds seemed to form the outstretched wings of an enormous eagle. Hovering over Palmer, I smiled and took it as a reminder the flings would return in the spring, and so will I.

Wasilla resident Daniel D. Grota retired from the U.S. Army after more than 21 years of service.