We have made our annual pilgrimage to the California State Fair and I’m here to tell you that some things never change. I’m not quite sure why we go … I guess it’s tradition more than anything.
Tradition also calls for someone to pose by one of the two golden bears inside the entrance to the fairgrounds. Our state animal is the grizzly bear – don’t ask me why since we killed them off long ago. They’re gold, I suppose, since we’re known as the Golden State.
As usual when going anywhere with my mother, we were stopped about every 100’ by some stranger who wanted to comment on her hat, or her skirt, or her blouse, or her crazy sunglasses, or just her in general. It gives me and Electric Horseman plenty of time to eat and drink.
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you ought to be in pictures
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This year the theme was “The California State Fair Goes Hollywood!” I guess this made sense because many people who have never been to California think we’re all about Hollywood and Southern California.
I went in search of a movie star I had seen on one of the noon news shows; the horse that had played Sea Biscuit in the movie.
On the TV spot, he had been out and about, wearing his film “costume”, the racing colors that Sea Biscuit wore. I thought it would be nice to get a photo for you, maybe even one with me in it. Maybe, I thought, I could pretend to be a jockey! Yeah, that’s the ticket!
Sadly, I was foiled right at the starting gate. Fighting Furrari was not on display. Rather he was lollygagging in his stall, and it was not an ordinary stall. The top section was entirely enclosed in chain link fencing. Do they not know how difficult this is for photographing? And for posing as a jockey next to your steed? Sheesh.
The horse did everything he possibly could to cooperate. He came right over to inspect my camera.
Let’s see you try to photograph a horse through chain link!
Oh, this is just great. I finally manage to get the whole horse in the frame and he decides to poop. It’s like the saying about rich or famous people putting on their pants just like the rest of us, one pant leg at a time. This “Hollywood” horse didn’t act any different than the two pasture ornaments I have at home.
We moved on to a part of the fair that always attracts a steady crowd.
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Live, on stage - birthing!
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This is where they have cows, sheep, goats and pigs on display while they give birth.
Yes, you read that last sentence correctly. There are helpful signs along the way.
Notice how careful they are to protect the patient's identity.
I got out my Magic Marker and started to add a few items to that last sign, but Electric Horseman dragged me away.
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Privacy, people, PRIVACY!
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I have mixed feelings about this entire operation. I suppose it’s an opportunity for city folk to learn about the cycle of life and where their food comes from and blah blah blah. But, speaking for all those laboring moms, I never thought of the birthing process as a spectator sport. Most animals I’ve observed look for a quiet secluded location to give birth, NOT AN ELEVATED PLATFORM AT THE STATE FAIR. Personally, I think the only people present should be the guilty parties expectant parents and medical personnel with a semi-truck load of pain-killers. But that’s just me.
For absolutely free you could wash your hands and hold a squealing piglet.
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the two hungry ones of the triplet sheep
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the sleepy one of the triplets
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In the poultry barn, a different sort of struggle was underway.
Have you ever watched an egg hatch? It takes forever. Once again I exaggerate, but it sure seems like forever, and the poor little birds are exhausted. They really should be given a better set of tools to use to escape the eggs, or have zippers installed.
At one exhibit we thought we had lost Butterfly. You might think that would be difficult, given what she was wearing. It turned out that what she was wearing caused the problem.
I call this my “Where’s Waldo?” shot – she practically disappears into the display of colorful tiles!
We wandered through several buildings of vendors, and were moving along at a pretty good clip, until we stumbled upon Butterfly’s nirvana. Electric Horseman took one look and said, “I’ll be back in a while.”
We had found a booth selling “bubble” shirts, or whatever you call those shirts that start out tiny and stretch to fit any size person. She wears them every day. The best part was that she found a pile marked $6! She already has a zillion of these shirts, and every thrift store in town saves them for her, but now she had found a gold mine of them. She was not one tiny bit tempted by the $15 or $20 versions, no matter how snazzy or stylish they were. She is not one to pass up a bargain.
And the lady running the booth was not about to pass up a serious shopper. She ran out from behind the booth, sporting one of her shirts, of course, and “oohed and aahed” over my mother’s outfit. I think she would have liked to have her just stand there all day, “selling” her shirts for her by modeling. When she saw that we were looking at her “close-out” shirts she said, “Oh, if you’re interested in those, let me get the big bag of them I have in back!”
“No, one or two shirts will be fine!” protested Butterfly.
“Nonsense,” I said, “bring them out; let’s see all you’ve got.” Butterfly did not want me to “waste” any money on her.
“Will you sell them for less than $6?” asked Butterfly, who will always try to strike the best deal.
“It depends how many you want to buy, but we can make a deal,” the proprietress replied.
This was going to be fun.
She brought out a huge bag stuffed full of shirts of every color you can imagine – solids, prints, some with sparkles, short sleeves, long sleeves. We looked at each and every one, making a pile of must-haves, a pile of maybes and a pile of rejects.
Butterfly held up one brightly colored shirt and said, “I think this one is a NO!”
“What’s wrong with it?” I asked.
“It’s too gaudy,” she said.
The shirt lady and I looked at each other and burst into crazed laughter. Had my mother forgotten what she was wearing? She had on just about every color in the rainbow, with every pattern possible, and this shirt was too gaudy? Did she really say that?
“Seriously,” I said, “you are totally nuts!” I grabbed the shirt from her and threw it on the must-have pile.
At the end of our sorting frenzy we had a pile of 35 shirts.
“Will you take $100?” I asked, throwing out what I thought was a daredevil low-ball offer.
She tapped away on her calculator, then shook her head and said, “I’d be losing money, but let me see what I can do.” Tap, tap, tap.
“I can give them to you for $140,” she said.
“Sold!” I said.
Butterfly squealed, “I don’t need that many shirts!”
“I know you don’t, but now you can recycle some of your old ones. Say thank you, Butterfly …”
It was necessary to refuel the Butterfly for the long, hot walk back to the car. We had to practically hose her off by the time we got there – she’s almost as much work as having a little kid along.
She attracted quite a bit of attention with her melting ice cream cone (it was about 100 degrees) and colorful outfit – mostly from little kids who wanted ice cream, too. And a Grandma just like her!
