County Fair

1 THE END OF AUGUST ALWAYS TURNED the small valley town of Dorsetville into a hive of activity. Children, who in June had thought the summer would never end, were now flush with a sense of urgency to put in as many hours as they could down at the swimming hole by the river, or to explore new paths along the mountain range that ringed the town. Suddenly there seemed so much that had been left undone that they swarmed like bees collecting the last pollen to get it all in before summer had passed. Men, who had spent the month enjoying the countryside filled with lush shafts of wheat and corn from the vantage of their front porch rockers, now felt the pull to get busy. As harvesttime neared, few dared to linger over second cups of coffee at the Country Kettle. They were much too busy for idle chitchat. There was machinery to grease and oil, barns and silos to be cleared, firewood to be split and stacked, and acres of corn and wheat to be gathered in before the frost. Men worked tirelessly from sunup to sundown against the steady drone of combines that spit and sputtered up and down the fields, leaving the entire countryside to resemble a patchwork quilt. And when they were through, hundreds of circular bales of hay would dot the fields like modern sculptures left to dress the landscapes in a prelude to fall. Women were no less frenzied as the summer came to a close. Vines bent to the ground under the weight of fistsize tomatoes. Peaches were coming so fast and furious that even the birds had had their fill. Suddenly it seemed as though every manner of fruit and vegetable was ready to be canned at once. Women scurried about like squirrels, gathering in bushels of produce. Kitchens were off bounds to the rest of the family as women manned pots of boiling water and melted paraffin. And when the last canning jar had been lifted out from its steam bath, there wasn't a housewife among them who didn't feel as rich as Solomon as she gazed across the pantry shelves that fairly groaned under the weight of ruby red tomatoes, topaz peaches, emerald peppers, and amber corn relish, bowls of which would grace every table throughout the long winter ahead. As the snow grew higher around the doors and the temperatures plummeted to five below, the golden kernels would act as a reminder of the halcyon days of summer past and the promise of those yet to come. But no matter how busy the season, folks in this small town always managed to fit in the annual County Fair. Although blue ribbons may have cost only fifty cents each to make, to the men and women in Dorsetville they were worth more than a king's ransom. In between their chores, men groomed their livestock entries until their coats shone like spun glass, tuned their tractors until they purred, and practiced their hog hollering until their wives thought they'd go insane. Meanwhile the women crafted items until their fingers felt as though they might fall off their hands and cooked until their kitchens were as hot as the fires of hell. The Friday of Labor Day weekend would be the official kickoff for the fair, held at the fairgrounds about a mile and a half outside town. Although it was still called a county fair, only a few of the forty or so towns that made up Litchfield County participated. Since the early eighties, much of the surrounding farmland had been sold and developed. Where acres of verdant, rich fields had once spanned the distance as far as the eye could see, the hills now sported enormous homes the locals called "McMansions." The landscape, however, wasn't the only thing that had changed with the influx of people. Taxes had soared as thousands of children poured into the school systems. It seemed that every school was undergoing some kind of renovation program. More teachers were hired. More school buses were bought. Dirt roads quickly gave wayValentine, Katherine is the author of 'County Fair ', published 2007 under ISBN 9780385516082 and ISBN 0385516088.