"Yeah," the boy said to me as we walked into one of the exhibit buildings at last week's Redwood Acres Fair & Rodeao, "I would have really loved this exhibit if I was still eight years old."

The exhibit in question was a room filled with old fire engines and, in the back corner, a very elaborate model train exhibit. The old fire engines were not only authentic; they were all relics of local fire departments and their equipment from days gone past. They even had things from the 19th Century. As the boy said this to me, I felt like a relic from the 19th Century myself, though not in as good shape.

The Fair, admittedly, was not terribly exciting for us. I went because such functions in Humboldt County usually include some local music and lots of local crafts. The boy is not interested in the local crafts but does, from time to time, find himself listening to some of the better local bluegrass bands. Humboldt, for some reason, is blessed with some spectacular blue grass players--far more than we ever found in our travels in Orange County and LA--and I had hoped to find a place to sit and listen to such local luminaries as the Striped Pig Band and The Devil Makes Three and Rooster Cogburn. "Bluegrass is like jazz from the Appalacians," the boy said. "You see some guy in overalls sitting on his porch playing the banjo real fast and clean and the expression on his face never changes." He said this admiringly.

The model trains were fascinating to me, less so to the 17-year-old beast. He did take a few seconds to admire the handiwork of the guys who had built the layout and to watch a model train rumble past (do model trains rumble? or is it more like a hum?). But, as I said, he found it hard to be impressed by much. And yes, his present blase' attitude was in marked contrast to the time, not so long ago, when he would have run crazily through the exhibit building and come out flushed and happy.

Not that I expected him to, mind you.

In fact, I wasn't even aware that this building was in the exhibit. In fact, in retrospect, I'm not sure what I expected from the Fair other than good local music. Alas, we didn't even get that--instead we got a tired looking bar band ("The Nighthawks") which played competent versions of a very tired blend of old pop music. First the did a Shania Twain song ("Feel like a Woman") then they did a very worn out Doobie Brothers song ("China Road"). When I left they were trying to get into some monstrosity from Michael Jackson, piously intoning that it was only a year ago that ol' Michael had left the planet. Funny. Last year before he died they were probably making jokes about Michael and little boys. I guess death makes everything right.

On his iTouch he has a "countdown clock" to the time when he can leave for college (14 months away). He professes to have no great love for Humboldt, which makes me sad each time he makes a disparaging comment. I do love the 'Boldt, even if it hasn't been as good to me as I'd hoped. I wanted to retire up here after a long and productive live. These days, the phone isn't ringing that much--June is notoriously a bad month for lawyers, as is January--and I worry about each day's income. I suppose that I'm going to have to come to a real decision about how long I want to work up here and hit my head against the wall. I will never be considered a "local" no matter how long I stay up here. Of course, if I die and am buried here, I'll be considered a local about 5 years after the funeral.

I dunno. As always, my heart is in flux. I could have used a little reinforcement at the Fair.