We were beyond excited this year to head to the fair now that our little Justine is much less “squirming lump” and much more “mobile ball of unbridled energy,” old enough to appreciate some of the sights and sounds this fantastic event has in store.  We arrived early, soon after the gates open, and threw ourselves into experiencing the various shows and booths.  In quick succession we watched a troupe of acrobatic dogs, a family of bears capable of riding bicycles (although not bicycling backwards nor blowing bubbles) and a group of wakeboarders “shredding” some two by fours with the help of a modified lawn mower engine and a tow rope.

After a quick stop at the New York State Potato Growers Association booth for a nutritious breakfast (a loaded potato), we headed to the livestock buildings to show our daughter what all the animals look like close up.  While she found the 1234324 varieties of rabbits fascinating, she was less enthralled with the cattle, perhaps because of the nonchalance with which they relieved themselves, sporting a “so?  I pooped?” look of indifference on their faces. Frankly, I was surprised Justine didn’t identify with them.  She probably wondered what size diaper they should’ve been wearing.

We grabbed a quick lunch around noon, with Kim and Justine snacking on a chicken pita, while I decided on a slightly less healthy “fried sampler,” consisting of two fried oreos, two fried chocolate chip cookies, and a fried peanut butter and jelly (as a main course).  The particular booth I patronized actually offered a “you bring it, we’ll fry it” service, which I skeptically assumed was an empty promise until the guy in front of me was handed his fried hamburger.  Only at the fair.

After lunch, it became clear that our well-behaved toddler was quickly devolving into an over-tired “fussy monster,” and so we weighed our options.  We decided to try and find a quiet spot, nurse her (that would be my wife’s task) and then hopefully get her to fall asleep in the stroller.  That is how we found ourselves under some bleachers in the horse coliseum, pushing a stroller in figure eights in a vain attempt to bring about naptime while teams of horses pulled old fashioned stagecoaches around a dirt track nearby.  Judging by the knowing glances and snickers of passers by, our attempts at causing spontaneous napping was failing badly.  Intent on enjoying more of the fair, we fell back to plan B.  Ignoring her, and just walking about, in hopes she’d just pass out.

This failed too.

Finally we decided to leave the fair, and then ride the shuttle back to the parking lot in hopes she’d fall asleep on the bus.  After a few roundtrips and a chastising from the bus driver (“you can’t just ride the bus all day…”), we fell back to our final plan.  We went back to the car, laid our now inconsolable child into her car seat, turned up her baby tunes, and waited.

Two minutes.  That’s all it took and she was out cold.  She slept for the next hour and a half as we returned to the fair, visiting the dairy building for twenty five cent chocolate milk and frozen cheesecake on a stick, trying to find bathrooms that were not overflowing with fairgoers, and strolling through the two buildings full of vendors hawking everything from steam powered mops to ShamWows to Jesus.  (My favorite was The Right to Life booth, which was giving out plastic fetuses).  When she finally woke up, we visited the pigs and the petting zoo (with a real live giraffe!), let her learn the harsh truth about carnival games (which she didn’t – she wanted to take the rubber ducks rather than the prize), grabbed a quick dinner and headed out, some nine hours after we had arrived.

All in all, another magical day at the Great New York State Fair.  If you ever have the chance to attend, I heartily recommend it – and try the deep fried Milky Way.  It will change you.  Forever.

- MWF -

Happy Fatherhood Friday to all, and to all a good day!

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As part of our recent getaway to the backwoods of Pennsylvania, amidst the lengthy morning naps, booze-filled afternoons at the pool, and crazy midnight canoe joyrides, we decided to take in a bit of local scenery and headed up the road to the majestic Niagara of Pennsylvania, Bushkill Falls.  It was certainly a memorable trek through the wilderness, but I should preface all of this by clarifying that, as a New Yorker, I have visited Niagara Falls, I have stayed at Niagara Falls, and Bushkill, sir, you are no Niagara Falls.

We had previously visited the Falls, about five years ago, sans child of course.  My recollections of that trip are hazy at best, with random images of wooden stairs, falling water and being chased by a large bear who was hellbent on getting my “pic-a-nic” basket before getting shotgunned down by Ranger Rick.  I did not recall, thankfully, the rigorous nature of the journey down into the gorge, or else there may have been a little more hesitation top drop by for a “quick hike.”

We arrived on a beautiful late morning, and with father-in-law in tow, my wife and I strapped our little Justine into our Kelty backpack, bought our tickets, and began our trek down a well built set of wooden stairs in search of the falls.  Within 50 yards we found ourselves at the top of the main falls, aghast at the volume of water, both physically and aurally that the waterfall generated.  As Justine stared in amazement and/or blithe indifference, we pulled out our trail maps and debated (loudly) which way to go, eventually deciding on a path that headed down to the base of the falls, past several other falls, and winding up at some point down the line on the other side of the main falls.

In retrospect, the going to the “base” and then ending up across from where we were should’ve raised some red flags.  After all, the “base” of the falls was probably 150 feet down vertically (a little more if you bypass the stairs, but more expensive with the barrel costs), which means to the more astute folks that at some point, we’d have to climb back up that same distance.  With a 20 pound squirming weight that would get increasingly louder and squirmier as she approached lunch and nap time.  Oblivious to these concerns, perhaps due to male bravado or that I was NOT carrying our daughter, we forged downward.

The Falls area is wonderful, and the trail for the most part consists of wooden planks and railings, and so is easy going on the feet.  We marveled at the sites as we headed down, turning periodically to take pictures, hold Justine over the rail in a mute tribute to Michael Jackson, and yodel traditional Swedish folk songs just to hear them reverberate throughout the canyon walls.  We swiftly reached the bottom, and then realized our predicament.

I should give credit to my wife as she bore the brunt of the “baby-packing” as we headed up the Bridal Veil trail, which was a slow steady climb until we reached several steep staircases where it switched to a quick, painful slog.  I was behind and so was unaware of the exertion that she apparently was wearing, as judged by the folks tromping down the trail the other direction who kept shaking their head, assuring her that “there wasn’t far to go,” and wondering loudly “where her husband was.”

Justine, of course, chose this time to become acutely aware of the proximity to lunch time, and so began to complain vocally about the situation.  Thus to compound our climb back to civilization, we had to stop every twenty paces or so to hand her some Cheerios or her sippy cup to placate her, however briefly it would last.  Finally, after a seeming eternity, we arrived back at the parking lot, with much fanfare, hand slapping and bear-hugging of some visibly distressed French tourists.

Despite the exhausting journey, everyone had a pretty good time, and we of course got some great pictures of the Falls, Justine, Justine and the Falls, Justine riding a deer, my wife shooting me dirty looks, etc.  And thankfully, the trek was tiring enough to send our darling daughter down for a significant nap, allowing her parents to finally steal away to our real reason for heading to the falls – to enjoy the hot tub afterward.

- MWF -