Jenny Laventure, of Woodbury, pulled a wagon across Hoyt Avenue at about 6:30 a.m. Thursday, generators from vendor trucks buzzing.

"We've been coming for 20 years," Laventure said. "I feel like there's a new beer we're going to find out this year."

The crossing guard in a yellow smock overheard her and yelled out that she should drink them all and "report back to me."

The Great Minnesota Get-Together opened its 12-day run Thursday, just after daybreak on a hazy morning. The fair — which history buffs note predates statehood — brings together residents from the seven-county metro area to the urban core, from the Iron Range to Buffalo Ridge, the Red River Valley to the Driftless.

Some attendees had gathered in the predawn dark, when only the multicolored Ferris wheel lit the sky. Before the pandemic, gates to the annual spectacular of show pigs and carnival rides, gigantic vegetables and food on a stick opened before dawn, at 6 a.m. But no longer.

"Last year we stood in line first, too, because we thought it started at like 5," said Ben Christensen, also of Woodbury. Christensen ticked off "hanging with my bros, talking and cheese curds" as his to-do list for the day.

His friend, Shane Wyman, of Lakeville, said he looked forward to the surplus cookies Sweet Martha's Cookie Jar piles on top of its buckets — even scavenging a few off the ground, if needed.

"We do it to help the earth," Wyman said.

The fair runs through Labor Day, marking the unofficial end of summer. Attendance this year is expected to eclipse 2 million people, a mark not seen since the pandemic.

Henry Dougherty, of Minneapolis, said it was his first fair in 10 years, taking a more pessimistic view of the change in opening time.

"People don't want to start as early, and they want to get out sooner," Dougherty said. "They're just conforming to the new labor trends, and that's what the future of our country's about."

Memories of long days working the fair ran through Diana McKeown's mind. She waitressed the event as a teenager. Thursday, she wore a purple bandana and a T-shirt with Fairchild the gopher, the Minnesota State Fair's official, well-attired mascot.

"It's an annual tradition with my best friend. We actually met at the fair six years ago," she said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out her corn-on-the-cob earrings. "I have corn dog ones, too. They're awesome."

Mist machines were spitting early and the day's temperature was expected to rise into the steaming 90s, prompting the Ostlund family of Forest Lake to pack reinforcements.

"Oh, I've got it," said Alisha Ostlund, pulling out her backpack. "I've got hats. I've got stroller fans. I've got a neck cooler."

The fair often opens with a yawn more than a bang. Crowds swell over the weekends. But the early hours find pilgrims returning, like loons to the lakes. While the sky ride gondolas zoomed overhead, some attractions were still opening up.

Root beer at a beef jerky site wasn't working yet. A Hawaiian ice stand asked people to come back in 15 minutes. The Agriculture Horticulture Building didn't open until 9 a.m., forcing some fairgoers to spy through cracks in the door as judges inspected massive gourds.

Along the route formerly known as Machinery Hill, a phalanx of tractors drew onlookers, including many older men in baseball caps and suspenders.

"Depends on the condition, maybe $2,000 if it's coming out of the field with sheet metal wrinkles," said Dave Lewerer, of New Richmond, Wis., guessing at the price of some of the red, green and yellow antique implements. "You want to get something that's restored? The number starts going up."

This year's fair comes after a summer of drought that's blanketed the state, worrying farmers about smaller yields. The week's record-breaking heat affects everyone from the livestock in the barns to the workers clocking long days under the sun.

Karen Gibson with Texas-based Alamo Attractions monitored a sea-themed carnival ride of seats spinning around a red-haired mermaid. The fair marks a midway stretch for the Dallas resident's season, which runs from March to November.

"It's not the age. It's the height," Gibson said, explaining eligibility for the kiddie rides. She's been working the Minnesota fair for 20 years. "It's busy. But not as busy as Dallas [at the Texas State Fair]."

One person keeping cool was newly crowned Princess Kay of the Milky Way, Emma Kuball, of Waterville, who took a break from the chilled chamber where a sculptor was rendering her likeness into a butter block.

Kuball had become a State Fair sensation overnight after being crowned the 70th Princess Kay of the Milky Way on Wednesday.

"Last night I went through Snapchat and thanked everybody," Kuball said. "Today, I started to go through text messages."

By mid-morning, the crowds had grown larger. Outside the union area, U.S. Sen. Tina Smith spoke with tennis-shoe-wearing staffers on a corner. A man walked past with a "Defund Politicians" T-shirt. One notable difference this year will be the lack of a campaign cycle — the grandstand acts, including The Chicks and Duran Duran, will draw the spotlight.

Still, nods to politics could be found throughout the fairgrounds. After standing long in line to see the popular crop art exhibit, Mike Connly of St. Paul pointed out an entry portraying former President Donald Trump and Russian President Vladimir Putin sharing a corn dog.

"It's always good to see the topical representation," Connly said.

Next to the Department of Natural Resources Volunteer Outdoor Stage, where country band Darlene and The Boys undertook a steel-guitar-aided version of "Could I Have This Dance," Anthony Williams manned the Libertarian Party of Minnesota booth.

"People are usually inquisitive. Some just hear the music and stop over," said Williams, the group's executive director. Two fairgoers popped by and asked Williams if, like last year, he sold any "Taxation Is Theft" T-shirts. "Those were popular."

Meanwhile, a few tired teens in boots napped on lawns. Many in 4-H sleep there overnight, caring for their animals. In the cattle barn, the Weiss family from Hubbard County sat in chairs as big fans spun overhead.

"I'm showing a market steer," said Adison Weiss, 15, describing the class system of judging. "You wouldn't judge a lightweight 1,200-pound cow versus a 1,500 pound."

Nearby, her black steer slept in the hay.

Farther west on Judson Avenue, 16-year-old Hannah Hill of Brewster tended to her lamb under the "Nobles County" sign in the Robert Christensen Pavilion. She's the fourth generation to show at the fair, said her father, Chris Hill.

"She just loves to be with animals," Chris said. "That's her calling."

By lunchtime, the sun almost peeked through before cloaking itself again behind gray skies. No one in the sea of people filling Underwood Street seemed to mind, and a 4-H-er escorted a bleating sheep, almost like a celebrity, through the crowds.