More Dates

No, this is not a commentary on how men are pigs.

A few days ago I overheard a friend saying that she had nearly gotten caught in a parade – literally. “A police car over there, and a police car up there, and then I heard the marching band.” Turns out it was the parade for the annual Date Festival in Indio, California. I remarked that I had never attended, and probably wouldn’t because I had no one to go with (some cheese with that whine?) when she said, “Oh – I’ll go with you!” Ruined my complaining right there.

For those who haven’t read my last blog entry, go read it now. It’s all about dates (the fruit, not the social thing) in the Coachella Valley. The Riverside County Fair and National Date Festival is a celebration held at the end of date harvest (which generally goes from September 1 through the end of the year). Over the years the event has grown from a sort of agricultural expo into a two week event full of grandstand acts, camel racing, ostrich racing, pig racing, demolition derby, a nightly pageant, and so on.

Entrance to the Riverside County Date Festival Fairgrounds in Indio, California.

The Date Festival on 40 acres of permanent grounds in the middle of Indio. The fairgrounds are flanked to the east by the Larson Justice Center (courthouse), to the north by the Indio Jail, to the south by the Riverside County Police and Sheriff’s Departments as well as the County Coroner, and to the west by JFK Memorial Hospital. The only thing missing is the Fire Department. Arrests, injuries and deaths are covered – fires are extra.

The Date Festival is somewhere between the Kittson County Fair and the Minnesota State Fair in scope. While the midway is considerably larger than anything we had in Hallock, there are hardly any foods on sticks to be had. Except for chocolate covered bacon. (The concession with said bacon located conveniently - if alarmingly - next to the livestock building.)

We missed the camel races and the ostrich races, so we had to content ourselves with heading to Henrick’s Petting Zoo, full of animals willing to be friends with you as long as fed them. (Ah – sounds like some men I know.) Anyhow, I got to meet several critters who I photographed with their mouths full. They didn’t seem to mind. Among them, a walleroo (yes, from Australia – no, not a cross between a wallaby and a kangaroo, a water buffalo, a yak, a camel, a zebra, a four horned goat and an alpaca in need of dentistry that reminded me a bit of a maiden aunt. Or someone’s poodle. Or a muppet.

All the exotic animals were provided by Henrick Exotic Animal Farm in Nickerson, Kansas. Yes, Kansas.  Monte at the Kid’s Camel Rides, a gentleman with quite long whiskers, a cowboy hat and a cigarette, told me that they provide all the exotic animals for the Date Festival and have been since the 1980s. He pointed to a camel that, at the time, was carrying a little kid with silver shades and balloon animal hat. “That one’s been on stage with the Radio City Rockettes.” Really. “Yes, and this year we’ll be flying some over to Hawaii for a festival there.” Flying camels, huh? “And they’re easy to train, too.” Monte told me that he’s spent most of his life training animals, and that camels are by far the easiest to work with. “Smart. Gentle. Affectionate. Some folks say that they’re mean, but that depends on how you treat them.” Monte also shared that the Henrick Exotic Animal Farm also has a bed and breakfast, each room with a different animal theme.

The petting zoo was right next to the livestock building, where we said hello to a young (11-year-old? 12?) 4Her with a goat named Clyde. Clyde had done well at the show – a couple rosettes hung on his stall. From there we made the rounds and saw a few sheep sporting fresh wool-cuts. And then, the pigs.

Along the way, my friend had deduced that the sheep’s and pigs’ destinies most likely involved a dinner plate. She lamented the fact that these kids had spent so much time and effort on the animals and developed a genuine affection for them, and that it seemed such a shame that that’s how it would all end. I nodded, then told her, “Yeah. Well. We had pigs when I was growing up and I was never so happy to eat bacon in my life.”

Warning: Digression Ahead.

I was in high school, maybe 9^th grade, and all of a sudden there were three pigs in the barn. My brother had designed the barn with a river sand floor (easy on horse’s legs, good drainage, etc.) and box stalls that could be expanded for brood mares. As it turned out, two of these eight-by-eight box stalls had been combined for Ruby, Rupert and Roslyn, as my sister called them. My experience with pigs consisted of driving past a large factory pig farm and holding my nose even with the windows closed.

The three pigs (I know, I know) squealed, they grunted, they trotted around and around their expanded stall, they shat (which I helped clean up) and they rooted. Rooted, rooted, rooted with their ugly, snotty snouts, rooted holes in the sand that still haven’t been leveled. And they stunk. And they bit. And were mean. And tried to knock you down. And did I mention that they stunk?

And boy, was that side pork delicious.

End of Digression.

As we walked by the pens, all carpeted with spotless wood shavings, past a pig named Dilbert who weighed in at 382, we heard what I like to call Barnyard Rap. A livestock auction was in progress – pigs going to market. Bidders, meet dinner. Dinner, meet bidders.

Do-I-hear-a-hundred-a-hundred-a-hundred-for-a-pig-pig-pig-a-hundred-a-hundred-and-twenty-five-twenty-five-twenty-five-hey-fifty-fifty-fifty-fifty-a-hundred-and-fifty-now…  I just love that.

According to a woman I asked, generally the bidding starts around $1.25 per pound (thus the call for hundred-and-twenty-five) and goes up to around $3.00. Do the math. Dilbert’s gonna bring home some bacon.

I sometimes hear derisive comments about 4H and FFA. And to many people, those groups are uncool, full of hicks, losers. But as I watched these kids interact with the adults and prep their stock for the ring, and heard what pork was selling for, I had to laugh. These are kids who, by the end a year raising an animal for market, understand business. Overhead, hours, effort, margins – they learn it.

Ok, so on we went to the pig races, another Henrick’s activity. Here’s a video. Afterwards, we went and got some smoked pork spare ribs. Were they ever good. Almost as good as that side pork years ago.

 Robert M.C. Fullenwider, the first manager of the fair, envisioned the Arabian Nights theme that persists today. Writer Louise Dardenelle wrote the play, “Prince Ahmed and the Fairy Banou,” that is still performed nightly. Harry Oliver, a retired motion picture set designer, created the stage and set complete with minarets and domes. Every year since 1947, a new Queen Scheherazade is crowned. And yes, the queen and her court all wear the spangly bra-top and sheer trouser thingies.  And tiaras.

Meet Prince Ahmed.

This might be Fairy Banou.

We ate churros. Walked through all the exhibit buildings, past Fine Arts entries including sculpture, paintings and photographs. We looked through the commercial tent with massage chairs, interchangeable purse shells, t-shirts, shoe-shiners that tried to sell me a $35 leather cleaner kit (no dice, but he was an awfully cute shoe-shiner), $20 salsa mix (OK, I bought that one, but it makes 50 batches of salsa), cookware, purses made from coconut shells (almost got me on that one), and more and more and more.

We saw the produce displays that had been there for a couple weeks (this was the last weekend of the fair), crafts that should never have been made, crafts that should be displayed with pride in a conspicuous place, and a gigantic model train.  Finally, we walked out the way we had come in, pushing against the tide of folks coming in to see that night's grandstand shoe, the band Switchfoot. Next year, maybe I’ll see the camel races.