Andre the Giant's basket weaving tutorial starts at noon. Twenty years ago, I attended my first Oregon Country Fair. It was a spontaneous adventure, unsanctioned by my parents, who believed me to be waterskiing. I've still never waterskied, but I've returned to the OCF numerous times over the past twenty years. I've escorted first-timers and have accompanied savvy fairsters, I've gone for multiple days and for just afternoons, have camped in some truly strange situations, and I have many memories - and some lost memories - from those past jaunts. This year was the 40th anniversary of the OCF and not a lot has changed.
It's true that you can wear whatever you want or as little as you want (best to paint those parts). Costumes, masks, and stilts abound. People-watching and shameless eavesdropping are de rigueur. This year, I saw a white-faced bozo-clown smack a loin-clothed, lovely and manly hippie-boy on his bare derriere. I saw whimsically painted pregnant bellies and naked parts I'd have preferred to have ignored. I love the loops of maze-like trails, the pockets of peacefulness along the stream, and the shady dragon-benches to take a respite from the shuffling, meandering masses, constant streams of dusty, compacted, variously scented fairsters searching for something special-a lantern, a massage, spiritual inspiration. Honestly, I was tempted to stop and talk to the shaman; what might he have advised?
