Roger, a 67-year-old who says he has no last name, is one of the people Thompson sees each year. When I met him, in a wooded meadow called Energy Park, he was peddling his handmade scroll saw. Roger is a few years away from gaining “Elder” status, which is reserved for people who have worked at Fair in some capacity for over 20 years and who are above the age of 55. He hopes that there will soon be a tiny village just for Fair Elders. He said that many of the Elders were so devoted to the festival that they would have their ashes spread on its grounds: “For a lot of people that’s important — they’ve been here for a long time.”

Environmental sustainability is an axiom of Fair. A large banner reads, “Reverence for the Land.” The fairgrounds are considered an archaeological wetland , where cutting and digging are prohibited. The gathering features a reusable diaper service, and food booths use metal utensils.

Later I tried to discard the remnants of my Springfield Creamery vegan ice cream in the trash and was reprimanded by a waste kiosk supervisor perched on a recycling bin, a teenage girl who was wearing wings and sparkle eye shadow.

“Compost!” the fairy said.

“Even this?” I said.

“Everything,” she said.

When I asked Roger (who has driven an electric car to the gathering for the past two decades) about Fair’s environmentally inclined values, he said: “Who are we kidding? There are a gazillion cars out there. It’s a gasoholics convention.”