Bull Bums and Pig Fights: Washington County Fair

I am not done with cattle. There were plenty more cattle to see, but I didn't want to overload you in the last post. It's hard to overload me on animals. I just dig 'em, especially when they're healthy and well-nourished.

This is a Blonde D'Aquitaine steer. I'd never heard of the breed, but he's from an organic farm not far from my home. The girl showing him said he's not supposed to have that fatty hump over his neck, but I liked it. 

He was in such exquisite condition, with dapples showing on his hide. And his bum...wow.

Just a vanilla fudge chunk of a steer. I was calling him a bull, but I see from this photo that he's lacking the essentials.

He felt like warm wood.

There were the obligatory pigs, the sow with piglets, only this time the piglets were pretty big.

One of them was feeling frisky and picking dominance fights with all the others. There was squealing.

Back on the midway, I had my pick of themed salt and pepper shakers. Do I want the rotting skull?

or the joyful swamp zombie? Decisions, decisions.

Oh look! Angus butts! These were raised and shown by a classmate of Liam's. I was proud of her. Excellently beefy!

A little Ayrshire heifer contemplates her future as a milker.

I am looking in vain through the black and white drawings in my new cow field guide that Katdoc sent me for this one. I would really appreciate some identifying signs on the stalls.

So wooly! He was like a shearling sofa. Mmm. Mouse gray to boot. Anyone? I lack the requisite experience to identify mystery steers.

For my last cow shot, a trapezoidal Jersey. I decided she was lion-colored, and the tail matches, too.

Washington County Fair: Looking at Cows

The cows at the Washington County Fair this year were good. They were well cared for, and of a pleasing variety.

I wind up taking a lot of photos of cow rears, mainly because that's how they're tied up. But I also enjoy their diversity of shapes. This Holstein heifer has yet to develop her ginormous udder. Enjoy it while you can, hon; soon you'll have a 60-pound bag, that inflates to twice its size morning and night, there to deal with.

From left, Guernsey, Jersey, Ayrshire and Jersey calves.

A wee Hielan beastie!! The first I've seen at the W.C. Fair.

She was thirsty and her bucket was dry so Shila and I went to find someone to refill it.

Such a sweet little animal. To me, she was right out of a cave painting, something ancient.

 A beautiful Lineback.

 

and a sleek little Jersey. I love Jerseys. Richest milk of them all; the cream floats up solid and yellow to the top.

There were so many things to see, but as night fell the midway beckoned.

I absolutely love the velvety blue sky with the little lit food palaces sprinkled around. Evening is my favorite time at the fair.

You couldn't have found a vegetarian entree if you tried, and we did. 

Somebody was offering deep fried vegetables, but the line didn't move in a half hour so we gave up.

Each year I seek out this old John Deere gas engine which turns the crank on an ice cream machine. But it wasn't running just then. I always think of my dad, who loved to take his engines to fairs. He'd sit all day answering questions about them. One of his favorite moments was when two little girls started to dance to the rhythmic popping of the engine.

There will be other things to remark upon, like loofah/hot pepper/canna leaf arrangements. But for now,  this is probably enough. 

Offering

It was a good run on a moist gray morning. First, a redtail, dropping her calling card for me to pick up. More on that below.

Then, an unmistakable silhouette on the road ahead. Chet knew what it was.

An old lady turtle, small but fat and heavy, her scutes worn smooth. Who can say her age or what she's seen? All I knew is that the tan car that would soon come barreling down the road as it does every morning was not going to crush this one. Not two minutes later, here it came, and there she wasn't. 

Because we drew near and we picked her up and moved her a few more feet to safety.

Hawk drops a feather

at my feet as she flies by

When does that happen?

And how to say thanks?

Wild things keep moving, knowing

Or never knowing

How they leave us here

below, agog, assigning

Wonder to nothing