I'm standing in the carousel building at Roger Williams Park in Providence, Rhode Island. It's early and quiet, before children bustle in for fun. Morning light streams through the large windows, reflecting off the horses. Mr. Fuller, carousel engineer, has already started working on the bimonthly check up of the ride. As I join him, he removes his greasy work gloves, tucking them into the pocket of his gray pants, and gives me an energetic handshake.

		Under the red and green lights, Mr. Fuller and I squat next to a white horse. He carefully pulls up the bottom pole, called a telescope, that attaches the horse to the floor. As he gives it just the right twist, the pole pops out, leaving the horse dangling from the ceiling. Mr. Fuller cleans and greases the telescope, then places the pole back into the floor. We stand up and he taps the gold pole that leads from the horse's back up into a hole in the ceiling. I tilt my head and strain my eyes to see what's hidden up there. “That's where I go to check the position of the horses,” he says. He explains how the position of the horses is what creates the balance of the ride. “The carousel is like a wheel,” he says. “If it's not balanced then it won't stop smoothly and the carousel floor will end up drifting forward and back until it finally stops.” We slide past horses as we step to the center of the ride. Mirrors taller than both of us cover the circular center, creating the image of a carousel twice in size. I wave to my reflection. Hidden behind one mirror is a door which leads into the engine room. We step in. My eyes adjust to the dim lighting and my nose to the smell of grease. Cables, poles, crankshafts and an engine fill the room. In the middle of the room a fifty foot pole stretches up, supporting an enormous red and white tent that covers the carousel. Halfway up the pole, spiraling horizontally from the sides like spokes on a bicycle wheel, are twelve long beams. Each beam, called a sweep, is just wide enough for Mr. Fuller to walk across. He climbs a ladder and carefully steps out on each sweep to adjust the position of the gold pole that holds each horse. “It's like walking on a tight rope,” he says with a grin. After spending time adjusting the pole's positions, Mr. Fuller climbs back down the ladder, then greases and cleans the engine. Back out with the horses, I see a waist-high metal box. On it are two buttons, stop and go. A silver bell hangs from the box's side. “Clang, clang,” Mr. Fuller rings the bell, then presses the green button. Sixty horses begin their dance. Lifting and lowering at different times, the balanced animals create a beautiful wave. Thanks to Mr. Fuller, the carousel is finely tuned and ready for the children to ride.

Marcia Maynard is a member of the Society for Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators, a graduate of the Institute of Children’s Literature and a reading specialist. I have been published in Parents and Children Together Online, regularly in The Bridge, a Pawtuxet Village Paper, and in Organic Family Magazine.

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