I grew up in Spencer, Wisconsin, a village of about 1000 (less in the 1960 census, more in the 1970 census) in North Central Wisconsin. The closest city was Marshfield, at eight miles to the south on Highway 13, which at the time had about 15,000 people, a J.C. Penny store, a mail order-only Sears store and, by the time I was a senior in high school in 1973-74, a McDonald’s. My home county had more dairy cows than people. When I tease my wife about her hometown (Karns, Tennessee), she quickly reminds me that at least her birthplace had a red light and a Hardee’s. We had neither, although from time to time in some summers we had a local family run a root beer stand that we referred to as the "ringworm stand" because of a physical affliction suffered by several employees.
You get the picture.
Every June we had a three-day festival called "Spencerama," which provided not only a parade, a Spencerama Queen, and a carnival but, most importantly, a three-day excuse to drink beer to excess in an outdoor public place (as opposed to a indoor public place offered by one of the six bars in town). This extravaganza was held in the Spencer Village Park, just across the parking lot from the fire station. The carnival surrounded a wooden pavilion built to house (you guessed it) the beer garden.