“I want to play in the rain! I want to play in the rain!”

Christine Thacker bounces through puddles, lifting her T-shirt to bare her flat stomach and show her teeth as she laughs. At first glance Christine, 42, looks to be around 28, but up close you can see the gray streaks in her hair.

She is one of many workers that makes the Davidson United Shows carnival come to life each night. The show opens at 7 p.m. and stays running until the patrons thin out. It will be in town until Sunday.

“I used to drive a taxi all around Des Moines,” she says. “Now I work here. I love it.”

Bill Boyer has a different opinion of the rain. “Don’t say the ‘R’ word,” he chuckles. “Grandma doesn’t like it.”

Bill and the other workers have been working all morning. Their muscles ripple under tattoos as they hustle to beat the rain, rewiring machinery and tweaking details before — hopefully — the big crowd rolls in.

Despite whatever he and Grandma wish, it rains anyway.

Fat drops drench the parking lot across from the Jack Trice Stadium, driving everyone into their trailers, leaving more than 15 rides deserted under the gray skies.

Marge “Grandma” Davidson treats it philosophically.

“You take it one day at a time,” she says in her soft voice.

For Marge, 82, running a carnival show is like farming.

“Both of us depend on the weather,” she says, and she was glad it rained for the farmers’ sake, even though it put a damper on her summer sales.

Grandma wears her white and gray hair piled on top of her head and smokes unfiltered cigarettes, holding a lighter that matches her purple wind-breaker, between burgundy press-on nails.

More than 50 years ago she and her husband, Bernie, bought a children’s ride for $300 and began taking it to area fairs and carnivals. What started as a hobby turned into a full-time job and a collection of 22 carnival rides that take up to two complete days and numerous trucks to pack and haul through the Iowa show circuit from late March until October.

Even after Bernie died 13 years ago while on the road, Marge kept trucking. By now she’s seen people she knew as children bring their own children, and then grandchildren, to her show.

“It’s kind of like carrying on [Bernie’s] dream,” she says. But it gets stressful for her at times too. She says she wouldn’t mind if the show sold a few of its rides and became easier to handle. When asked how much it costs to run the show, she paused and says, “Plenty. And that’s my answer too — plenty,” with a twinkle of spunk in her deep set eyes.

All in the family

Ed Arey has been working the circuit for 24 years.

“I’ve tried to leave,” says the large man, who walks with a slow rock and has tufts of wiry black hair on either side of his mouth. “But I just keep coming back every time.”

One draw to return could be the close-knit family atmosphere. Many of the workers began working at carnivals with their biological families and ended up “adopting” the whole team — or marrying them. Bill and Christine want to get married eventually.

The hours on the road added to the hours spent waiting for the crowds in the evening can pile up, however.

Ed says team members fight sometimes, but usually go out drinking to make up.

Maintaining equipment takes up a few more hours a day.

The men are responsible for running the heavy machinery making any repairs, while the women clean the grounds and prepare candy apples and popcorn.

“They work their butts off,” Bill says.

But even if the women, like Christine, want to, they are not allowed to work on the machines.

“We don’t want to see any ladies hurt,” Bill says.

Team members get everything done with a hearty dose of horseplay.

“Some of us are jumpy — we love scaring each other,” Ed says. They take time out to clean their bunks or play with a pet ferret, Baby Girl.

Cooking is a popular hobby; Ed even enjoys crocheting and writing. “I wrote one poem. ‘Lonely Soul,’ ” he says with a smile.

But in the end the show comes down to the crowd.

“The best thing about this job is making people smile,” Bill says.

On with the show

The lights flip on and glow neon green and red as smells of wet pavement, oil and fried food begin to fill the air.

Children dash through the maze of rides, giggling to themselves and picking which rides they should repeat.

Although the workers still outnumber the patrons, that doesn’t seem to stop the children’s fun. And even though it doesn’t look like it at the moment, the traveling show apparently continues to make money.

Nick, Davidson’s 18-year-old great-grandson, runs the show.

“Grandma’s my only boss,” he says. He says his family was rich enough to have big-screen televisions and leather sofas as he grew up. He worked hard in high school, even though he “didn’t like any of the classes really,” to graduate early and devote himself to the carnival lifestyle.

“I plan to do this for the rest of my life,” he says. He looks to the tradition set by his father and great-grandmother for inspiration.

Others credit her for helping them find themselves

Steve Tankersley, originally from San Antonio, Texas, says he has been alone since he was 15-years-old, and since then has done a lot of growing up.

“Have you ever walked down the street and someone looks at you like you’re stupid or something, or you owe them money of something?” he asks. “Well I was at a point in my life when I would have shot you for looking at me like that.”

He pauses and looks at the ground.

“I’m not like I used to be,” he says.

It’s now close to 9 p.m. and the workers are getting antsy.

“I wish it would rain again,” whispers Bill.

They make plans for the evening, trying to squeeze in an hour or two of fun for themselves after waiting and working for most of the day and giving the crowd a taste of fun.

Despite their whispered wishes, the evening stays dry. It’s not raining anymore. But they’ll keep playing.