Fryeburg Fair — Maine's Blue Ribbon Classic

Today is the last day of the Fryeburg Fair, Maine's blue ribbon classic. We went last Sunday, the first day of the fair when the grease is still fresh. The basic food groups are bloomin' onions, fried dough, grilled steak subs, hot dogs or burgers, top it all off with pie with whipped cream. (Veggie, bread, meat and dairy). This year I can only tolerate certain things, so Moxie and blueberry pie with whipped cream worked for me.

I was supervised for most of the fair but did run into Judy Miller, from Riverview Farm. Joe and Judy Miller sold me my first Merino ram, he was a beautiful Moorit sheep I named Dan Merino, the sire of my initial flock. He was gentle and lovely. Joe has since passed but Judy is the same pistol as I have always known. I was being supervised and although there was a beautiful gray Merino fleece, I still have the one that Judy sold me last time. I was reminded about all the yarn I have and so my one Fryeburg take home was a book. Well, that is not true, I brought home the Fryeburg Fair cold.

Back in the day I was a 2nd grade teacher in Lovell Maine. I learned the culture of the Fair. Fryeburg is an 8 day Agricultural fair with a Fireman's muster, Ox pulls, retrofitted lawnmower race for kids, and skillet toss.

I used to belong to the Downhome Spinners Guild and we would grab our wheels, fleece and carders and head to the fair. We would be in the Agri barn where the quilts, knit goods, Grange hall displays, pies and beans were given ribbons. Behind the rope, we would be watched and interrogated by the women. "What are you weaving?" We are spinning the wool, flax, silk that can be knit or woven. "Where do you get that?", pointing to the fiber, wheel or carder. They would come right up to the rope and be within inches of the wheels.

Men were more fascinating. They would stand about 20 ft. away, and watch, then approach, lean in and say, "So your foot moves that thing there, then the band moves the wheel, but how does it go in?", meaning how does the spinning bring the wool into the flyer. The easiest way to describe it is to parallel metaphor with a fishing reel. The foot moves the treadle, which moves the wheel, that moves the band and turns the flyer, once you put tension on the flyer using a piece of leather called a brake, but the spool is separate from the flyer and moves depending on the tension put on the flyer.

It is like a spinning reel that releases once you move the catch and cast. Then when you are reeling in the line, the tension is set and if a large fish pulls, the line releases a bit so it does not break. They always understand that metaphor. I would stop spinning and show them each part of the wheel and take the brake off, take off the band and then remove the flyer and the spool. I would then show them the orifice on the end of the flyer that is the mechanism that when spinning turns and twists the fiber.

I would explain that when spinning at full speed you can't see it, just like when reeling in you don't really pay attention to the bail arm on the reel. They nod yes. Or say "My grandmother used to spin." Or "I get it."

One year my little one was still in the baby bucket and behind the rope, which became another attraction. I wanted to go see Joe and Judy at the sheep barn and pick a fleece for the year. Baby was sleeping, so I brought her in the carrier to the superintendent's office at the end of the barn. There Helen Libby, my next door neighbor was there with her people. "I have to run to the ladies and then grab a fleece at the sheep shed, could you keep an eye on Lulu, she just went down." "Of course, you go on, we got her."

I made my way across the fairgrounds and got to the barn when all hell went loose. October in Maine is fickle with the weather and although a sunny day, it was cold so I was wearing a black turtleneck and I was still in the nursing mode with baby number 2 when the sheep started bleating, which sounds like a baby crying to any nursing mom. Since my body responded without my permission I sprung a leak which breached the barriers of the nursing pads and now I had two giant bullseyes of breast milk on the shirt.

I crossed my arms and hustled back to the superintendent's office, having to pass the forestry shed, the fireman's outpost and all of the cattle barns with the farmers sitting in their chairs watching the crowd passing. I pulled open the door to find Helen had called in the husbands from the other barns to look at said baby still sleeping. A roar of laughter came from the women and embarrassed looks from the men. "Give me my baby, I need to nurse." "Leave her lay where Jesus left her, you don't wake a sleep'n baby."

Somehow I finally got her, then left her at home for the rest of the week with pumped breast milk.

The next year instead of parking in a far field, I had a new parking space right along the forestry barn with the placard that said "MOTHER". The name had stuck.