What's Fair?

FOR THE FOLKS down in the Willamette Valley, the real July celebration comes the second weekend in July, The Oregon Country Fair, a gathering that's been occurring for the past 41 years in the woods outside of Eugene, Or. It started in 1969 as a renaissance fair and gradually has morphed into this party of multidimensional layers. Ask anyone and they will tell you a different story about it. My date back to when I was 10 and my mother took my brother and I there for the day. Needless to say, it made an impression on me. I think it was the topless woman walking by with a giant dragon tattoo across her chest. She had along skirt, long hair, bare feet and this gorgeous dragon tattoo that wrapped around her torso. I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. In the mid eighties, I started going with a group of friends. It was way casual. I could drive right up and park, buy a ticket from this cute little wooden ticket booth, and waltz right in, wander the paths until someone or something caught you attention. And the next thing you know, you are high, without your clothes on, sitting in a sauna pouring buckets of freezing cold water over your head. At twenty years old, it was fun, it was new, it was liberating. It was the OCF, baby! In the late eighties, I left Oregon for a while convinced there where greener pastures, and I was going to find them. I found a few and some good friends along the way but ended up back where I started, at the OCF. The site still held the character and charm. There's something timeless about walking the paths passed the well decorated booths. The crafts seem to have some magical touch to make them sparkle. There is always some functional artwork to take with you whether it's a coffee mug, a homemade toy, a feathery mask, or shimmery pants. Or watching the acts ranging from strolling musicians, jugglers, bubbles, stilts walkers to the various stages, I had morning coffee at Liberty and in the afternoon ate ice cream from Kesey's creamery. I loved hearing direction, such as, take Strawberry Lane to the Junction, cut through Community Village, right on 13th Ave till you get to Pooh's Corner. Then, left past the Ritz, down Snivel to the Dragon.

In the nineties, the masses were coming to the fair in groves and was leading into a new order that carried guide lines and restriction. Just the thought of this alone didn't sit well with traditional '60 style of antiestablishment. I remember sitting at the midnight night show on Saturday Night when the MC came on stage. He started to tell this story, something that just occurred out in the parking lot. Someone was having a bad trip, and the police had to be called in to help deal with the situation. As the policeman was trying to get the man calmed down and focused, the man just starting going back into this rant... " No, man, no... you don't get it! The hippy dream is dead!". The policeman frustrated by having to deal with idealism gone bad replied, " The hippy dream is not dead". There you have it straight from the voice of authority. However, change is inevitable. I wore dozens of hats during my ten year stretch as a fairy. I got to know the ins and outs of the production and somewhere along the way, the magic was beginning to fade into realism. I was getting caught up in the doings and being was becoming more and more elusive; the fair was becoming my tar pit. The more energy I put into everything, the more judgment I had about what I was getting back. I was thrashing, struggling and digging myself deeper into the despair of my own delusionment. The fair just wasn't living up to my ideals. It was heart breaking for me to face the fact: utopia was a drug, and I was an addict. Even when I decided I wasn't going to the fair one year, someone got me a camping pass. Then I had access to this wonderful campsite located behind the sauna. It seemed as though there was an undertoe at work. I can't remember too much about that year other than I felt like I was on the outside looking in. I'm sure I had fun. However, the conclusion was, I had to come to a conclusion. The fair simply wasn't working for me and there wasn't a greener field in sight ( or a yellow brick road). The Monday after the fair, I got in my car and drove back to my apartment at the Wilmont unsure about my future, a current seemed to be pulling me away from my support system.

The tide made a bunch of shifts in the following years. I found myself back in Eugene numerous times throughout the year including during fair time. I was back at the fair grounds as a prefair worker and a Sunday fair goer. During the fair itself, I stayed on a large piece of property with my own hot tub and sauna, didn't have to wait in line to use the bathroom, and had my own supply of cold beer while listening to the fair being broadcast over the radio. It seemed fair. In 2009, I took my first real break from the scene. I had started my mediation practice which proved to be what I was missing at the fair, grounding. During the fair, I went to the center, sat, and did some project. I was outside and in community the two elements of the fair that I enjoyed the most. I still was feeling a little sad about not actually being on site. During the following year, I was in contact with those people who I considered fair family and always they asked, if I was doing the '10 fair? It seemed like an option. However, I found myself staying home. I am tuning into the broadcast on line and am enjoying the music of main stage as well as, interviews with people at the fair this year, such as Patch Adams. He talks about his vision of health care in American. Stating, a movement toward socialism in our health care system is not the downfall of our government, but a duty of capitalism. Also, I listened to stories about the fairs origins and the move towards sustainability. The hippy dream is still alive and is being broadcast on the internet. YA, BABY!