09/09/2026
Reflections on the 2026 Mesa County Fantasy Faire
When my husband and I decided to take this on, we knew it would be monumental. With maxed‑out credit cards and limited help, we powered through — not for profit, not for recognition, but for the community we love.
I spent countless hours on the phone, online, sending emails, visiting businesses — chasing every lead to grow the faire and ease the strain on us. Many doors stayed closed. Most local businesses and organizations didn’t answer our calls for help. And honestly, I understood. We were an unproven event led by a virtual unknown.
I didn’t get angry; I took a deep breath, empathized, and moved forward. Many would have stopped there, told themselves “maybe next year.” But that’s not how I’m built. As William can tell you, I always have plans B through D waiting in the wings — harder, yes, but never impossible.
The challenges tested every ounce of my strength. There were tears, frustration, moments I wanted to throw things, and days when the weight felt unbearable. Planning something of this scale isn’t for the faint of heart. It demands resilience — and a stubborn kind of hope.
Throughout the weekend, I was my own runner, my own tavern bartender, my own crisis manager. I put out fires that could have burned the faire down before it began. I felt disappointment — in miscommunication, in disrespect, in the sacrifices that stole my chance to enjoy the event I created. I questioned why I was doing this at all.
Then, mid‑stride on my way to fix yet another problem, I stopped. I looked around. People were smiling. Vendors were laughing. Music filled the air. The faire was alive. That was the validation I needed — the spark that reminded me why all of this mattered.
In that moment, I stopped feeling sorry for myself and started feeling grateful. Grateful for those who showed up, stood beside me, and gave their time, money, and energy to make this dream real. Grateful for the ones who ran competitions, filled gaps, oversaw parking, made store runs, showed up for morning meetings, and kept the fairegoers laughing, eating, drinking, and celebrating. Grateful for those who didn’t complain (at least not out loud) but solved problems instead of creating them. Grateful for those who gave me space to lead.
If you were there during the closing ceremonies, you saw it — the kind of leadership that makes magic possible. You saw the people who shared my vision and carried it forward. So yes, William and I will do this again in 2027 — with those same incredible leaders by our side. I no longer feel alone in this.
Here’s to 2027, to the team who stuck by me, and to the community that reminded me what perseverance looks like. Thank you for listening — and for believing.
— Dierdre, aka Haitian Red, aka Shalini, aka Your Friendly Neighborhood Chaos Organizer, aka One of the most blessed humans in Mesa County.
