The County Fair

The first day of our Kittitas County fair is in the books.  Various fair food was consumed by the family of gyros, nachos, kettle corn, chocolate covered strawberries, funnel cake, hot dogs, elephant ears and huckleberry ice cream.  My stomach hurt before we even showed up, so my consumption of these culinary delights was somewhat limited.  Today, however, is a new day and as we will be ‘working’ in the church chocolate strawberry booth, I will have a second chance.  We got off yesterday to a typical somewhat frantic start as there were wardrobe issues.  The teen and my loving spouse were set in their new cowboy shirts, the bride & groom didn’t care and I did what I usually do… try on ten different combinations, go back to where I started, give up and leave.  I shouldn’t have been concerned as true Country Fair wear was as varied as any other fair I’ve been to, there were just a lot more boots.  Cowboy boots with short-shorts was a look we’d not seen and have no intention of trying.  Little pink cowboy boots on little girls were cute, fancy red boots on full-grown men not so cute.  Mostly boots a bit dusty, well-worn and well used.

We toured the exhibits of food, crafts, photos and animals.  As we are a somewhat competitive bunch, we’ve all got our plan for next year.  My loving spouse will enter his zucchini chutney, the bride’s going for the photography, the teen is trying to talk us into a bunny, the pumpkin growers might have some competition from yours truly and the groom just wants to be a judge for the baked goods.

Due to the wardrobe mal-function we were a bit late to the hog auction thereby earning us the last seat in the house, which was front row, one foot, yes, just 12 inches from the pen.  Prior to the hog auction, the thought of raising a pig for the fair was sounding rather fun.  A few hours later after being 12 inches from pigs pooping and peeing up front and personal, then the next pig rooting (farm term for sticking their nose in stuff) in the past pig’s poop has cured me currently of this idea.  The kids were all cute, coming in as freshly scrubbed as their pigs often with a scrub brush in their back pocket.  I imagine there were a few moms outside the pen with a scrub brush of their own.

I spent most of the auction literally sitting on my hands for fear of being mistaken for a bidder.  Let me tell you, this community supports their 4-H kids and pays for their pigs!  Our friend the farmer bids on his grandkids’ pigs, but only on their first hog to make it to market and now we know why.  The 234 lb grand-hog went for $5.50 per pound and no matter how you slice it, that is some expensive bacon.  As I am use to sitting in bleachers for sporting events, I did inquire of him, who we were ‘rooting’ (sporting term, not farm term) for… the granddaughter to get a high price or him to get a low price.  “Oh, it’s a win-win”, he said, “The money goes to the kids”.  I didn’t grow up on a farm and I didn’t grow up with any grandfathers or their support, so I especially think these kids are pretty lucky.