If you can’t find something fun to do on a summer Saturday you probably aren’t trying.

A good example would be how I spent a recent July Saturday. The Brookings Summer Arts Festival took place just a dozen miles from our house. But I opted to kick off the day with a combination of airplanes and pancakes.

South Dakota State University’s Flying Jacks Aviation Club held a fly-in and breakfast at our local airport. Flapjacks, sausage and eggs were served up by smiling, fresh-faced students. Few things are more enjoyable than a hearty breakfast in a hanger that’s brimming with aircraft enthusiasts.

Having had my fill of deliciosity — which substantially shifted my center of gravity — I wandered out to the flight line to admire some of the birds that had flown in for the event. One aircraft that caught my eye was a red 1940 Waco biplane.

I chatted with Charlie, the biplane’s owner. He had so much information about his aircraft that I got the impression that he could disassemble and reassemble the thing in his sleep.

Charlie related that one of his biplane’s wings had been too heavy. It took me a minute to grasp that he meant that the plane’s center of gravity had to be adjusted. Having just consumed a huge breakfast, I could empathize with this issue.

“I own three planes,” Charlie said. “When people ask me why I bought the Waco, I tell them because it’s fun to fly and that I wanted it. If you lose the boy in you, you’ve lost a lot.”

I found much to admire about Charlie’s attitude and his biplane.

The Arts Festival was held at the nearby Pioneer Park, so I meandered over and joined the throng that was wandering the grassy grounds. I chatted with our artist friend Virginia Coudron, who had a booth at the festival.

“This is a great crowd,” Virginia said. “People are in a good mood. It helps that the weather is so nice.”

It was a warm, summerlike day, with scattered clouds to keep the sun’s fiercest heat at bay. I sipped a lemonade while perusing the booths, appreciative of the fact that this wasn’t something that a person can do just any day of the year. Especially in the wintertime.

A plethora of artists were displaying their wares. There are some extremely creative people out there, including a guy who makes whimsical sculptures from such things as old silverware, roller chains, hand-cranked meat grinders, and various household detritus. He can look at junk and see art; I look at junk and see junk.

You cannot attend the Arts Festival without being overwhelmed by the wondrous aromas of the numerous food items that are available. Your salivary glands jump into high gear even if you aren’t particularly hungry.

I opted to indulge in a smoked bison brisket sandwich, something that couldn’t be found anywhere else at the festival. The sandwich, which was whipped up by Prairie Catering, was smoky and scrumptious.

“I smoke the bison brisket until it’s so tender that it falls apart,” said Les, who, with his family, owns Prairie Catering. Les happens to be my brother, but that didn’t in any way shape my opinion of this delectable treat.

My wandering feet took me to the area where the “primitive” artisans had pitched their tents. They included Civil War reenactors, a blacksmith hammering red-hot iron on her anvil, and a quartet of ladies who were spinning wool into yarn.

A random question popped into my head, so I asked one of the spinsters about the process of making sailcloth during the Viking era. I was told that I should talk to Marie.

Marie McClintic was wearing period clothing and spinning yarn on a nifty little variable-speed spinning wheel.

“The type of fiber that was used for sailcloth depended on where you lived back then,” Marie said. “If you were in Norway, it would be wool or linen. If you were in Spain, it might be cotton.”

I asked about the thickness of the yarn that went into sailcloth.

“The Vikings kept a primitive breed of sheep,” Marie replied. “Their sheep had a coarser outer coat that would be used for sailcloth while the finer wool underneath was used for clothing.”

Marie related that she has been spinning since 1978.

“I have two daughters and two granddaughters who spin, so I guess I started something,” Marie said with a smile. “We have a flock of 14 ewes on our farm at Groton that provides all of our wool. Our operation is sheep to shawl.”

I had an exceptionally fun and fulfilling summer Saturday. And I didn’t even try.

— Jerry’s book, Dear County Agent Guy, is available at Workman.com and in bookstores nationwide.