The 41st annual Bluemont Fair, in Bluemont, Virginia. Yee-haw!
County fairs aren't typically the places where I choose to spend my weekends, but when I heard that this one promised Appalachian cloggers, a man who calls himself an "organ grinder," and the rare opportunity to eat pork barbecue (because what's a fair really about if not a sloppy, juicy, succulently artery-clogging pork sandwich?), I knew I had to be there. I was told it was "very Loudoun County." I'd never heard of it. Indeed, it is quite the local tradition, dating back to 1969 when the town wasn't yet known as Bluemont but named Snickersville. And snicker I did throughout the three hours I spent meandering around the white tents and hay bales of the Bluemont Fair.
The "Organ Grinder." Note the "pet" parrots and the monkey--yes, they are all stuffed, and yes, the monkey is dressed in traditional Bavarian garb. Fantastic.
After being ushered into a giant field by a group of directionally challenged Boy Scouts ("Park on the left!" they yelled at the car behind me, only to be gesturing wildly with a small orange flag to the right) I was asked to pay a five dollar entry fee. At first, I'm a bit ashamed to admit, I felt a little ripped off. I knew that whatever I ate or bought inside the fair's grounds would undoubtedly be ridiculously overpriced. But when the volunteer informed me that the patrons' money all goes towards improving the roads and supporting the town of Bluemont, I rolled my eyes at my own miserliness and handed her some cash. After all, it truly is a picturesque and historic small town tucked away in the hills of Western Loudoun, and I knew that I'd like to visit again sometime on a less chaotic and crowded day.
Upon entering the grounds I was overwhelmed by the sheer amount of, well, stuff. Stuff everywhere, stuff that I didn't even know I needed but immediately felt that I had to have: a handmade broom that looked like it belonged to a witch; a melted-down wine bottle that served as a utensil holder; a miniature garden that was modeled after a Leesburg Master Gardner's real garden; a purse that was made out of the hardback cover of a book. I was overwhelmed, and in typical graduate student fashion, I was totally broke. Sure, I coughed up seven dollars last week to buy a jar of honey at Farmer John's market, but do you seriously believe I'm going to pay you forty dollars for a hand-knit tea cozy? You've got to be out of your minds, craftspeople! But here's the thing: people actually buy this stuff. They buy it and believe it's the most innovative thing in the world. Ardent fair-goers couldn't live without their God Bless America wind chime made of forks and scrap metal or a statue of a peacock made out of hot-pink dyed peacock feathers. Of course, that's part of the charm of a fair: the notion that you can't get this anyplace else. After a while, it all begins to look pretty much the same, a sea of goods and very few free samples. (Or, as my dad would say, "Same s---, different tent.")
Needless to say, I didn't buy anything that wasn't edible. The highlight of the fair for me came in the simple and eco-unfriendly form of a styrofoam box:
Hello, old friend. My delicious lunch, compliments of the assembly line of heavy-ladling members of the Methodist Church (in exchange for eight dollars, a very fair bargain...pun intended). Proud to be an American.
I also picked up a vanilla cupcake and some peanut butter chocolate pie from the Bluemont General Store. Food is typically only a small part of the fair experience for most people--entertainment and shopping being its biggest allure--but without my sugary baked beans and apple crisp, I would have been somewhat disillusioned with the idea of a county fair after this experience. Even venturing over to the children's area was a bit of a disappointment to me; I can't buy into an idea of a "petting zoo" that consists of a "baby cow" (a calf, you mean?), a duck, and two sleepy goats. Face painting was five dollars, and to fill a bottle up with colored sand and call it a craft cost five bucks as well. At least there were a myriad of entertainers to look forward to, right?
The Blue Ridge Thunder Cloggers. Much to my chagrin, they do not wear wooden clogs, as I had naively believed. Their shoes are something akin to cowboy boots with taps on the bottoms. Want to learn to thunder-clog? Lucky you, they offer beginner lessons! Go to http://web.mac.com/rightathome/BRTC/BRTC_Home.html to schedule your first clogging session.
Eh-wrong. While arranging my trip to the Bluemont Fair I strategically planned my visit based around certain performances I thought would be unique and interesting. I suppose you could certainly reserve those adjectives for Mateo Monk, a talented guitar-synthesizer-flute player, who sang and instrumented the most unusual and simultaneously captivating rendition of "Amazing Grace" that I've ever heard. I was entranced by his flowing mane of dirty blonde hair and his ability to seamlessly integrate zydeco, bluegrass, and soul music into well-known songs. It was weird.
Thrilled at the chance to see a real-live clogging group, I grabbed my BBQ sandwich and headed over to a large hay-bale seating area in anticipation. I didn't stay for long. The heel-kicking, linked-arm spinning clogging routines were reminiscent of the time I went to see Lord of the Dance with my mom in middle school, but something just wasn't right. Maybe it was the music (pop country songs) or the costumes (sequined vests and Wrangler's) or the lack of enthusiasm from the crowd (crickets). I found Vanessa here, one of the featured llamas from the shear-weilding Graustark Farm LLC, much more entertaining.
Isn't she cute? Someone needs a haircut!
What an unexpected attraction. I was surprised at the large area the llama and alpaca farmers had reserved for their wheelings and dealings at the fair. Who knew how many things could be made out of the wool of a llama! Sweaters, ponchos, place mats, rugs... If I could have purchased anything that day (besides Vanessa), it would have been one of her beautiful wool scarves being sold for around $100. No harm is done during the shearing--I asked, concerned. Their yarn is so delicate, so smooth to the touch, and from what I learned talking to the llama herders, quite warm and perfect for the snowy winter they believe we're supposedly in for again this year. Would I go back to a fair to hunt for llama goods? No. I genuinely enjoyed petting Vanessa and watching her eat hay. So simple; so silly. She seemed happy to be at the fair, looking around, watching the people go by, enjoying the ambience and the music and the smells of the food in the air. She was given a chance to escape her typical routine, see a new place, enjoy something she typically wouldn't have had the fair not existed all these years. There was much to appreciate here in Bluemont on this sunny September day: community, family, tradition. No hand-knit tea cozies required.
