The smell of hay and cotton candy, the lowing of cows, the dusty August air blowing through barn doors, ruffling your hair. The scratching of a horse against a stall, the whirring of the Ferris wheel.
Thousands of stitches hanging over the barn beams, the pride of dropping off an entry, no matter the age. Echoes of footsteps on the wide floorboards, wet grass tickling bare feet.