Every fall, when the air finally shifts and that first cool breeze drifts through Dallas, there’s one thing that makes it feel officially autumn — the Texas State Fair 2025.
It’s one of those family traditions that feels woven into our story, like pumpkin patches, porch mums, and that first cozy mug of cider.
We always go as a family — usually on a Saturday morning when the crowds are still thin and the smells (funnel cake, roasted corn, fried everything) fill the air.
This year felt extra special. The kids are all at such different ages now, and watching them experience the same fair through their own eyes reminded me how fast time moves — and how sweet it is to pause for a day and just be together.
The moment we walk through the gates, it’s pure sensory joy — the glitter of carnival lights even in daylight, the sound of laughter layered with the whoosh of rides spinning overhead, the smell of something delicious always nearby.
We split a basket of fried Oreos (because you have to!) and wandered through the barns where baby goats nuzzled tiny hands and Aiden quietly took photos with his camera — that quiet artist’s eye that always makes me smile.
There’s something beautifully ordinary about days like this. They don’t require big plans or perfect outfits — just sneakers, messy hair, and time.
We wandered the midway, the kids picking rides that suited their bravery levels, Chris laughing when the Ferris wheel stopped at the very top. He loves the view; I hold my breath every time.
By late afternoon, the light turned that perfect golden hue that makes everything feel like a movie scene. The fairgrounds glowed.
We stopped for corn dogs, lemonade, and cotton candy — the trifecta of every Texas fair memory. I snapped a few photos, but mostly I just tried to soak it all in. The sticky fingers, the big smiles, the sound of music floating across the field — those are the moments that stay.
The Texas State Fair has this way of pressing pause on all the noise. It reminds me why family traditions matter — why showing up, even when life feels full, creates the stories our kids will tell someday.
When we finally walked back to the car, tired and happy, the sky was streaked pink and orange. The kind of sunset that makes you feel grateful for home, for family, for another season to savor.
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