Small Town Festivals
I just love when small towns have their annual festivals. They are often associated with agricultural products, or events directly attributed to the town. In California, we have The Courtland Pear Fair, The Isleton Crawdad Festival, The Gilroy Garlic Festival, The Apple Hill Festival, and so many others. For instance, in Gilroy, one can experience garlic ice cream, deep fried garlic, garlic wine, and just about every concoction you can think about involving garlic. North Sacramento is famous for methamphetamine, but I doubt I will see Crank-Fest 2008 advertised.
We visited my brother and his wife on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, an area is famous for chicken. All of the famous chicken brands, like Purdue Farms and Tyson are everywhere in town. While this area is also famous for an abundance of seafood, like crabs and oysters, Salisbury, Maryland is famous for their poultry industry. You would think it would have been that gravy-covered, chopped steak.
Yesterday, we attended the 59th Annual Delmarva Chicken Festival, held in an open field adjacent to a shopping center. (FYI: Delmarva means, "Delaware, Maryland, and Virginia"). I was particularly interested in the festival trademark - the Giant Frying Pan - that was made especially for this event in 1950 (a year before I was born). The frying pan is ten feet in diameter, weighs 650 pounds, and is fired up by liquid propane gas. About 180 gallons of cooking oil is required to fill the pan. The local Lions Club does the cooking; approximately 10,000 chicken quarters for this two day eat-a-thon. People were even wearing chicken hats. Paramedics were available for burns and cholesterol-checking.
There were other exhibits, like baby chicks emerging from eggs. This was sort of bizarre since the people were most likely eating their parents. We brought our 87 year old mother from the nursing home with us. She enjoyed holding the baby chicks and listening to the Dixieland and Bluegrass music on stage. The banjo player was my brother's neighbor and good friend, Matt. In small towns, it is not uncommon to know just about everyone.
Several years ago, I visited my old hometown of Fairchance, Pennsylvania - a small, Appalachian community tucked in a tiny valley, south of Uniontown. Our town was famous for coke. Not the coke that druggies snort up their noses or the soft drink, but a charcoal-like product made from coal that was formerly used in the steel industry. Now that the coke ovens have closed, I did not think that our little town had any distinction at all; at least not something that could justify a "festival". I was wrong. My trip coincided with the annual Hi-To Lake Snake-Fest. This was something that I had to see.
Wanting to avoid the crowds, we went early. Our car was one of the four in the parking lot. Country music filled the air from big speakers. A quad-runner race around the man-made lake (about the size of a farm pond) had just concluded and the three contestants were pleased that they had taken first, second, and third. There was one booth.
As my son, Alex, and I approached this booth - basically a corral, crudely-made with chicken wire - we saw that it contained an impressive collection of rattlesnakes and copperheads. As a child, snakes were my biggest fear (other than my mother).
For a dollar, which included the rental of some, well-worn knee high, rubber boots, one could commune with the snakes. You were expected to walk around and let ‘em bite ya! This was not like swimming with the dolphins. As we watched those fearsome serpents in their makeshift pen, we notice that one rattlesnake had escaped and was heading for freedom from these crazy hillbillies. These are my people, unfortunately.
"One of them is getting away," said my son.
"I'll get 'em! That is the same somebitch that keeps gettin' out." Apparently, a snake crawling through the many holes in chicken wire was not expected.
As the tune of "Born Free" ran through my mind, the wayward rattler was re-captured and thrown back in the snake pit. He slithered to the corner in utter frustration and disappointment.
Neither Alex nor I decided to walk with the snakes that day, although I did feel sorry for the one that tried to escape. He really wanted to bite someone. Besides, paramedics were NOT available.
They eat a lot of rattlesnakes in Texas, but not so much in Pennsylvania. They definitely don't eat copperheads; even if you are real hungry. People in my town ate a lot of squirrels, rabbits, groundhogs (Sorry, Punxsutawney Phil), raccoons, and possums. I was told that they taste like chicken. Now, if Fairchance only had one of those big skillets...
Related Topics: Technorati Tags: small towns, fairs, festivals
We visited my brother and his wife on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, an area is famous for chicken. All of the famous chicken brands, like Purdue Farms and Tyson are everywhere in town. While this area is also famous for an abundance of seafood, like crabs and oysters, Salisbury, Maryland is famous for their poultry industry. You would think it would have been that gravy-covered, chopped steak.
Yesterday, we attended the 59th Annual Delmarva Chicken Festival, held in an open field adjacent to a shopping center. (FYI: Delmarva means, "Delaware, Maryland, and Virginia"). I was particularly interested in the festival trademark - the Giant Frying Pan - that was made especially for this event in 1950 (a year before I was born). The frying pan is ten feet in diameter, weighs 650 pounds, and is fired up by liquid propane gas. About 180 gallons of cooking oil is required to fill the pan. The local Lions Club does the cooking; approximately 10,000 chicken quarters for this two day eat-a-thon. People were even wearing chicken hats. Paramedics were available for burns and cholesterol-checking.
There were other exhibits, like baby chicks emerging from eggs. This was sort of bizarre since the people were most likely eating their parents. We brought our 87 year old mother from the nursing home with us. She enjoyed holding the baby chicks and listening to the Dixieland and Bluegrass music on stage. The banjo player was my brother's neighbor and good friend, Matt. In small towns, it is not uncommon to know just about everyone.
Several years ago, I visited my old hometown of Fairchance, Pennsylvania - a small, Appalachian community tucked in a tiny valley, south of Uniontown. Our town was famous for coke. Not the coke that druggies snort up their noses or the soft drink, but a charcoal-like product made from coal that was formerly used in the steel industry. Now that the coke ovens have closed, I did not think that our little town had any distinction at all; at least not something that could justify a "festival". I was wrong. My trip coincided with the annual Hi-To Lake Snake-Fest. This was something that I had to see.
Wanting to avoid the crowds, we went early. Our car was one of the four in the parking lot. Country music filled the air from big speakers. A quad-runner race around the man-made lake (about the size of a farm pond) had just concluded and the three contestants were pleased that they had taken first, second, and third. There was one booth.
As my son, Alex, and I approached this booth - basically a corral, crudely-made with chicken wire - we saw that it contained an impressive collection of rattlesnakes and copperheads. As a child, snakes were my biggest fear (other than my mother).
For a dollar, which included the rental of some, well-worn knee high, rubber boots, one could commune with the snakes. You were expected to walk around and let ‘em bite ya! This was not like swimming with the dolphins. As we watched those fearsome serpents in their makeshift pen, we notice that one rattlesnake had escaped and was heading for freedom from these crazy hillbillies. These are my people, unfortunately.
"One of them is getting away," said my son.
"I'll get 'em! That is the same somebitch that keeps gettin' out." Apparently, a snake crawling through the many holes in chicken wire was not expected.
As the tune of "Born Free" ran through my mind, the wayward rattler was re-captured and thrown back in the snake pit. He slithered to the corner in utter frustration and disappointment.
Neither Alex nor I decided to walk with the snakes that day, although I did feel sorry for the one that tried to escape. He really wanted to bite someone. Besides, paramedics were NOT available.
They eat a lot of rattlesnakes in Texas, but not so much in Pennsylvania. They definitely don't eat copperheads; even if you are real hungry. People in my town ate a lot of squirrels, rabbits, groundhogs (Sorry, Punxsutawney Phil), raccoons, and possums. I was told that they taste like chicken. Now, if Fairchance only had one of those big skillets...
Related Topics: Technorati Tags: small towns, fairs, festivals





