Exhausted and with sore feet, legs, back and even hands, I began walking from the east side of the state fair all the way back to the western most edge of the west parking lot. My mission: to retrieve the car so we could load dog, kennel, children and grandmother after twelve hours at the fair.

By the time I made it back to the entrance, I decided I was going to have a baby right there in the middle of the road. I wondered how long it would take one of those guys on a golf cart to take pity on me and drive me to my car if I were to just sit down on the asphalt and refuse to take another step. I didn’t really want to find out, but as I looked at the seemingly endless sea of cars before me my muscles rebelled. They refused to take another step.

Just then, the parking fairy arrived in the form of a John Deere tractor towing a large trailer. I didn’t really care where it was going. So long as I got to sit, I was willing to ride along. Slowly, the trailer filled and the more people boarded, the quieter it got.

One lady verified with the driver where the trolley would be headed.

The man across from me whispered to his wife that he hoped it wouldn’t break down, being a John Deere, and all.

But for the most part, we sat quietly, staring at nothing in particular, careful only to not let eyes cross with strangers.

Suddenly, a young purple finch flew in and flapped wildly as it attempted to land on the hand rail in the center of the trailer. Everyone was instantly alert, watching the little bird’s plight as it desperately tried to land. It flew up into the awning, meeting the same fate with the metal bars holding up the awning. Exhausted, it came down hard, barely catching hold of a lady’s crutch and perching for a moment as the woman tried to move it to encourage the little bird to fly elsewhere.

Again it rose, but it was out of energy. It crashed into her shoulder, coming to rest on her back. We all watched. She gave a bit of a nervous laugh, both pleased at the unexpected encounter and perplexed at what exactly to do. As she shifted, the little finch dropped to the floor of the trailer and stopped, worn out from its exertion, oblivious to its surroundings.

A young woman cupped her hands, gently lifted the bird and looked for a place to move it to. Aiming for a nearby bush, she gently tossed it and we all watched the little bird fly for a tree. Success!

A cheer went up, followed by applause. No one spoke directly of the finch, but the conversation no longer took place in hushed whispers between couples. We talked about the fair, it’s move from Lincoln to Grand Island, the traffic, the drive. We talked, we joked, we laughed. All because, for a few brief moments, we were not merely inconsequential strangers aboard the same parking trolley at the fair. We had found a common interest in the welfare of a young bird whose fight for survival had landed it in our midst.