Food and fun at the Alaska State Fair
Radio DJs across the state provide regular updates to how the pregnant pig is fairing. She’s a couple days overdue. Mark and I saw her in her pen at the Alaska State Fair, looking lifeless and laid out—almost belly up—on a bed of straw. Swollen teets exposed in two neat rows, she was HUGE, seeming eight feet long.
Pigs racing through a maze sounded crazy fun. The event drew quite the crowd, however, Mark and I failed to see any entertainment in it. The pigs, after all, were not aware they were racing and did not seem interested in progressing around the first turn let alone finishing the maze. We walked off in search of fair fare (i.e, food).
Most everything seemed so expensive, like major-league ballpark prices. Between us we got a buffalo sausage dog with mustard and onions, corn on the cob, crab cakes and crab bisque for $23. We accepted a free bottle of water from a politician who was handing them out to would-be supporters then sat low in one of three sets of bleachers in a grassy area on the border of the fairgrounds and waited for the lumberjack show. While eating, we gazed at the mountain range visible in the distance on this clear day. What a setting for a fairgrounds! We bet Alaskans take the scenery for granted.
Though this was our second time in Alaska, we’d never seen a lumberjack show, and we were excited to see it. The MC, 23 years old at most, carrying a microphone, walked from behind the temporary stage wearing red-and-black checked flannel and suspenders. He welcomed us and set a false rivalry by assigning each set of bleachers a local town, Wasilla, Anchorage or Palmer, and warmed us up by seeing who could give the loudest lumberjack yell. Mark and I had no idea what the lumberjack yell was.
“Okay Wasilla, three-two-one,” and the MC threw his hand out at them like he was showing a contestant what’s behind door number 3.
Seeming as if they had practiced, everyone sitting in the assigned Wasilla bleachers resounded a deep “Yo-hooooooooe.” Mark and I looked at each other laughing. Then it was Anchorage’s turn. The MC counted down and motioned to us all to yell. Still unsure, Mark and I stayed quiet while all around us folks shouted “Yo-hoooooooooe.” Again, we laughed.
At their turn, people in the Palmer stands yo-hoed too, and by the end of the show, Mark and I were yo-hoing with everyone else, like we were Alaskan, born and bred.
The MC introduced three lumberjacks, all as young as he and also donning the Brawny Man attire, and assigned them to Wasilla, Anchorage or Palmer, as we in the stands had been assigned. We rooted for our guy and booed the others. The jacks threw hatchets at targets, chopped and sawed logs and rolled them in water, climbed poles, carved figures, splashed and played tricks on each other and generally misbehaved, all the while exasperating the MC, who tried keeping them in line. So entertaining was the show, I wished for more when it ended.
Of course Mark and I toured the barns where, besides the pregnant pig, we saw cows, goats, sheep, fowl and rabbits. Other exhibits included painting, sketching, photography, flowers, baked goods and, of course, what I was most looking forward to seeing, the Big Alaskan produce: cabbage, pumpkin and gourds. The winning cabbage was the size of an over-inflated basketball wrapped in a couple layers of bubble-wrap, resting on leaves the size of pillowcases.
We ended the day with an equestrian show. Horses ran in circles as acrobats artistically hopped on and off their backs. Or, one fellow stood balanced on a running horse’s back while a beautiful performer stood on the fellow’s shoulders. It was all interesting for 10 minutes. We watched for 20, hoping for something different, but something different never came.
Two days past the pig’s due date, hundreds of miles to the northeast, we heard an update on her health. Now, four days after our fun at the fair, as we head into Denali National Park, in another part of the state entirely, the DJ announces that the pig has had her piglets.
Only in Alaska does a pregnant pig hold state-wide interest. Despite its vastness, Alaska’s a small state.
The day at the state fair in September was perfect: clear skies and temps in the high 70s.
Our fist stop was at a small stage outside the grandstand. A juggler/comedian pull kids from the bleachers to be part of his tricks. State fair stuff, but it was funny.
Most everything seemed so expensive, like major-league ballpark prices. Between us we got a buffalo sausage dog with mustard and onions, corn on the cob, crab cakes and crab bisque for $23. We accepted a free bottle of water from a politician who was handing them out to would-be supporters then sat low in one of three sets of bleachers in a grassy area on the border of the fairgrounds and waited for the lumberjack show. While eating, we gazed at the mountain range visible in the distance on this clear day. What a setting for a fairgrounds! We bet Alaskans take the scenery for granted.
Though this was our second time in Alaska, we’d never seen a lumberjack show, and we were excited to see it. The MC, 23 years old at most, carrying a microphone, walked from behind the temporary stage wearing red-and-black checked flannel and suspenders. He welcomed us and set a false rivalry by assigning each set of bleachers a local town, Wasilla, Anchorage or Palmer, and warmed us up by seeing who could give the loudest lumberjack yell. Mark and I had no idea what the lumberjack yell was.
“Okay Wasilla, three-two-one,” and the MC threw his hand out at them like he was showing a contestant what’s behind door number 3.
Seeming as if they had practiced, everyone sitting in the assigned Wasilla bleachers resounded a deep “Yo-hooooooooe.” Mark and I looked at each other laughing. Then it was Anchorage’s turn. The MC counted down and motioned to us all to yell. Still unsure, Mark and I stayed quiet while all around us folks shouted “Yo-hoooooooooe.” Again, we laughed.At their turn, people in the Palmer stands yo-hoed too, and by the end of the show, Mark and I were yo-hoing with everyone else, like we were Alaskan, born and bred.
The MC introduced three lumberjacks, all as young as he and also donning the Brawny Man attire, and assigned them to Wasilla, Anchorage or Palmer, as we in the stands had been assigned. We rooted for our guy and booed the others. The jacks threw hatchets at targets, chopped and sawed logs and rolled them in water, climbed poles, carved figures, splashed and played tricks on each other and generally misbehaved, all the while exasperating the MC, who tried keeping them in line. So entertaining was the show, I wished for more when it ended.
Of course Mark and I toured the barns where, besides the pregnant pig, we saw cows, goats, sheep, fowl and rabbits. Other exhibits included painting, sketching, photography, flowers, baked goods and, of course, what I was most looking forward to seeing, the Big Alaskan produce: cabbage, pumpkin and gourds. The winning cabbage was the size of an over-inflated basketball wrapped in a couple layers of bubble-wrap, resting on leaves the size of pillowcases.
We ended the day with an equestrian show. Horses ran in circles as acrobats artistically hopped on and off their backs. Or, one fellow stood balanced on a running horse’s back while a beautiful performer stood on the fellow’s shoulders. It was all interesting for 10 minutes. We watched for 20, hoping for something different, but something different never came.
Two days past the pig’s due date, hundreds of miles to the northeast, we heard an update on her health. Now, four days after our fun at the fair, as we head into Denali National Park, in another part of the state entirely, the DJ announces that the pig has had her piglets.
Only in Alaska does a pregnant pig hold state-wide interest. Despite its vastness, Alaska’s a small state.
posted by Elizabeth Evans Fryer | 3:42 PM
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