Wyoming County Fair

A county fair is timeless; an event that inspires nostalgia while setting the stage for countless happy reunions admist spinning carousals, cow stalls, and colorful quilts. This past week, I went to the Wyoming County Fair in Pike, New York three times which is a low number of visits compared to true fair fanatics.  I like to see the fuzzy chickens, squeeze sheep and constantly question why some goats have their ears removed. Apparently the answer is either so horrific or so boring that I always forget the answer to my question and I have to ask it again every year. Attending the fair is a chance to get out of the house while feeling like you're still at home.

 The fair has many distinctly separate personalities. When I went on Tuesday morning to watch my friend Evelyn compete with her horse Jazz, the grounds were quiet, blanketed in a soft misty fog. The mid-way was statue-still, vendors were just beginning to open and the smell of breakfast almost diverted my route to the horse arena. Afternoons are busy; packed with waist-high, laughing children willing to risk the most stomach-churning attractions. Evenings are a hodge-podge of families, leashed pups, packs of teen-agers, seniors, and strollers. Nighttime is deafening with the sound of tractor-pulls, a haze of smoke now clouding the jam-packed arena.

It is particularly entertaining to view the fair through the eyes and excitement of my friend Sarah. She had worked with me at Letchworth Central School for five years until lured back to her city roots. "Chili is a suburb, Amy," she repetitively reminds me. Five years of former sixth graders stampeded down the fairway to jubilantly greet her, pushing me ruthlessly out of the way. While Sarah was busy being uplifted by her horde of adoring fans, I was being grilled by a geezer who habitually casts aspersions on my writing skills in a public forum. I tried to restrain my outrage because he's a pastor and because he looked so darn cute in his little newsboy cap. But I tell ya...I can only be pushed so far before I pop him in the nose!

Having extricated ourselves from these delightful social situations, we then ordered delicious pulled pork paninis from Decisions of Silver Springs. We were horrified by the explicit prize posters adorning the wall of the neighboring pop-a-balloon game so we momentarily planted ourselves next to it crying out, "Look away, Citizens!" Well, ok. That might have just been me. Wandering through the exhibit buildings, we pondered the ribbon distribution criteria associated with submitted baked goods, canned fruits and vegetables as well as preserves. One cannot ponder aloud at a county fair because multiple unsolicited responses will immediately be forthcoming. There's no such thing as a reciprocal comment at Wyoming County Fair. We had a very confusing conversation with Evelyn about her ride results. I blame the noise level of our surroundings but as Evelyn was describing the barrel racing game of "Steak-n-Shake," Sarah and I were both picturing Evie pulling a USDA grade beef steak out of a barrel as she swept by on her horse. Turns out, she meant a stake...aka a stick...aka a pole. Ohhhh....I believe we may have been further distracted because Sarah and I had enjoyed one of the best milkshakes of our lives at a "Steak 'n Shake" in Erie, Pennsylvania. I ordered a chocolate-covered strawberry milkshake...yum! Oh. Evie took second place!

The Thursday night talent show is one of the pinnacles of Pike Fair. It is a surreal event. A stage of sawdust. An audience that includes cows that are either being clipped or milked during the performances. The entertainment roster is a thrill-ride of varying abilities. I tend to be a tad chatty..."A tad!" commented my friend Deb, "You talked all the way through the show!" Now, mind you, I stood in line for a half hour to get that woman a special-ordered fried elephant ear coated with cinnamon-sugar on one side and powdered sugar on the other. You'd think she could be a little more gracious. Who could possibly remain silent as little girls clog energetically to the inappropriately lyric-ed "Ain't No Holla Back, Girl"? Who isn't going to sing along with sister act Shelby and Haley's melding melodies as they harmonized on "Collide"?  We cheered for violinists, hula-hoopers, singers and dancers. During intermission, we admired the cellphone images of our former student, Brandon's lawn tractor, outfitted to resemble "The General Lee." Trying to recall Waylon Jenning's lyrics from "The Dukes of Hazzard," I inadvertently created my own mangled mix-tape:

                                                                Just a good ol' boys, 
                                                            Never meanin' no harm, 
                                                            Beats all you've ever saw,

                                       Been in trouble with the law since the day they was born

                                                    Wasting away again in Margaritaville.

You always leave the Wyoming County Fair wanting more. We weren't able to squeeze in time to ride the mechanical bull. We missed a prime opportunity to try and win a goldfish. Sarah refused to have her picture taken with a toad that can grow to the size of a dinner plate. We did learn how to craft our own plates by gluing printed fabric to Corelle ware. We cursed our luck that we hadn't been able to see the Fair Queen parade and talent show. This year, apparently, was particularly memorable as one of the contestants was outfitted with wings to resemble an appropriately-attired, homespun Victoria Secret's model and one of the talents included a demonstration on tree-climbing. Drat our bad luck! Next year, we may just have to spend more time at the fair. Maybe we could sleep among the livestock like so many kids do. Our sad regret is assuaged by the knowledge that Pike Fair is a reliable friend who will reappear next August, giving us another chance to be reacquainted with all the best that Wyoming County has to offer. 

Like detours around troubled bridges

I have experienced unfavorable driving conditions in my lifetime. I've been trapped for over an hour in clogged Chicago traffic in the cramped cab of a Chevy S-10 sans air conditioning in August. Another traffic jam in Toronto was caused by the arrival of an unexpected elephant. Tour bus rides through Boston shaved years off my life after encounters with motorcycles, bridges and irrational pedestrians. Wyoming County traffic complaints usually focus on getting stuck behind morning buses, tractors and the infrequent cow crossing. Friends visiting from the city will scream with frustration from our established habit of waiting to enter traffic if we can even see a hint of an approaching vehicle in the distance. But lately, Wyoming County residents have several valid reasons to legitimately witch about road conditions.



Bridge #1

Bridge #2

Consider this: Amy Mosiman exits her driveway (after patiently waiting for a Chevy Impala spotted an 1/8 of a mile away to pass by) and turns left, turning up the radio to drown out the hole in her muffler. As she considers the ironic irrelevancy of Adam Levine's lyrics about the antiquated payphone, she encounters a "road closed" sign as a construction crew stares serenely from the bridge they intend to repair. She sighs and turns around. At the opposite end of her road, she is confronted with the identical scenario. She is now traveling in a perpendicular fashion as she cannot differentiate north, south, east and west. She has almost made it successfully to work when, you guessed it, another bridge is out, a mere hundred feet or so from her employment. A student of "The Dukes of Hazzard," Amy briefly debates the merits of launching her Ford Ranger up and over this annoying obstacle but fortunately remembers that the last time she'd been foolish enough to take Ranger over a bumpy road, she'd left the exhaust system  in the dust. Let's try this again. She backtracks a bit and tries another approach only to find a fourth bridge out. Is this a joke?
Tonight, Savannah and I loaded up the dachshund and set out on a journey of documentation for the Doubting-Thomases of the blogging world. Taking pictures of closed bridges is not as pathetically boring as one might initially think. We commiserated with some passersby who, on the bright side,
realized they could walk right down the middle of the road. The construction crew left their machinery invitingly road-side so we fulfilled Chlo's dream of riding one. At our third bridge, I decided to set a mood. "Look sad," I coaxed my little dog as we sat by a sandbag. Incapable of looking sad, Chlo instead scampered toward immediate danger, nearly plunging three feet to her detriment. The fourth bridge (this is beginning to sound like a video game journey where we should be collecting gold coins) was
a traumatic nightmare.

Through the looking glass of Savannah's windshield.
We were afraid we'd be rendered blind if we looked
to the right.

As we pulled up, a suspicious-looking man turned away from our car, turning toward the steel building next to him. Suddenly, it dawned on us. The creek beneath the debunked bridge wasn't the only thing flowing. Our presence did not seem to inhibit our public pee-er at all. "Oh my goodness, oh my goodness," I cried, "Turn around, turn around." "No," Savannah said, realizing that a well-executed three-point turn would have us parked in front of this urinating exhibitionist like we were patrons of "Sonic" (Please notice my writer's restraint as I steer away from the obvious pun of ordering a foot long). "Just take the picture through the window and let's go," I begged, crouching down in my seat. Not one to
let a little pee get in her way, Savannah was nonetheless ready to plunge ahead with our plans but I was just too mortified.

There are two bridges out to the west of me. Two bridges out to the east. One bridge is out to the south of me and another one to the north. The detours resulting from this fiasco has more than doubled my four-mile drive-time to work. Was it absolutely necessary, safety-wise or economically, to systematically shut down the entire south side of Wyoming County?  But obviously, there is a bigger issue at work here. The stress from this inconvenience has evidently rendered some of our residents incontinent. I will be so relieved when these bridges are operational again.