The Dutchess County Fair...So Close yet so Far Away

Eastchester, New York -- As a New Yorker, one becomes accustomed to incessant traffic, high prices, brutal weather, short summers, bone-chilling winters and a litany of other nuisances and annoyances that weave in and out of everyday life. You can complain about them, rail against them, live with them, relocate, or simply try to escape them once in a while to retain one's sanity and regain faith there must be something better.

I am fortunate to spend my summers largely away from the cesspool that has become the New York metropolitan area, in just-north Putnam County, a nirvana near a lake that restores the spirit. And once a year, I'm able to disappear into a culture you would think only exists in novels and hackneyed television programs from the '50's.

At the end of August each year since 1842, one of the best county fairs in the State, and perhaps the country, rolls out on 170 acres of gorgeous country land in Rhinebeck, New York. The Dutchess County Fair takes one back to a simpler life, but perhaps it is one people still live in the not-so-remote three-to-four hour distance from New York City.

There I stood last Sunday, on the last day of this six-day all-too-short tour through Americana, thinking as I do every year, "I can do this...I can live this life...of course, without the four o'clock wake-up call, cow milking, and manure shoveling that comes with it."

What distinguishes the Dutchess County Fair? It is unabashedly hokey. On Sunday, August 30, for example, the husband-calling finals took place in the large Livestock Show Arena. There, one could observe the way women on the farm used to call their husbands for dinner, or to address any number of pressing needs that only men farmers could accomplish in those days gone by. I found myself believing that these women on display still actually DO this. For a moment, I was astonished. Then I reconsidered and, well, loved it. They followed this corny event, with a field of corn...a costume contest for farm animals. Youngsters created somewhat sophisticated costumes for their pigs, sheep, horses, goats et al, and paraded them in front of an adoring throng that, I was convinced, had been waiting all year for this contest.

As I do each year, I walked through each of the dairy cattle barns and observe the various types of cows that have been painstakingly hauled by farmers to this showpiece event with the hope of earning a ribbon during earnestly judged competitions. After all these visits, I still cannot report what it is they're judging on these animals, but huge crowds seem to know every aspect. An enormous Poultry & Rabbit Building displays one rooster after another making a cacophonic racket to which no one would want to wake. Young 4-H girls display rabbits they've raised. A pen shows recently born piglets in enormous disharmony as they struggle to feed from their annoyed, and somewhat pained, mother. There's a horse arena where a variety of equestrian events take place...a horticulture building...a sheep pavilion...a goat pavilion. There's a horse pull where huge animals are linked to tons of cement blocks and asked to yank them, oh, about 10 feet. There's a dog tent where owners humorously attempt to mimic the Westminster Kennel competitions or lead their canines through obstacle courses most have no interest in completing.

And beyond the farming quotient, there's an entire other section not yet covered. Generally, about halfway through this experience, I begin to think I'll need to pick up the pace if I want to see everything. But isn't the Dutchess County Fair about pace, or the lack of it? Doesn't the lifestyle demonstrated here demand a measured stride, a laid-back approach?

I wandered over to the Pig Races, where a shill huckster energetically emcees. I zipped through the considerably-sized carnival to absorb the flavor of summer and watch people voluntarily scammed out of amazing sums of money. I walked past the massive grandstand where last year I watched the Beach Boys perform (talk about your perfect Fair fodder). I briefly observed a high-dive show with humans, and separately, a performance by dogs diving great distances through the air into a pool chasing some plastic toy for which I wouldn't get wet. I ended my day with a trip through what passes for a small zoo with caged animals from all over the world on exhibit, and the denouement, a tour through the Antique Village, with recreations of everyday life from throughout the Fair's long history on distinguished display.

I left as I do each year, feeling oddly dissatisfied that some cosmic force hadn't reached out and yanked me into the dimension these people seemed to populate so that I can relive the Fair each day...sort of a "Groundhog Day" starring real groundhogs. It's a fleeting sensation, and it leaves me with a yearning for the next to last week of August in 2010, when I'll sit perfectly contented as I observe grown men lifting up cow's tails and proclaiming them winners.