The Farm Show Explained

In order to understand why 500,000 people would congregate in Harrisburg Pa. in the absolute dead of winter to stare at farm machinery, examine swine and cattle close up, and eat unhealthy things, you begin with the fact that Pennsylvania, one of the agricultural heavyweights of the eastern US, doesn’t have a state fair. It used to. The last one was held in the 1890’s. It was discontinued in response to Victorian-era outrage over the “unwholesome” carny-type tent shows that grew up around it.

Fair enough.

The tent shows continue at other more traditional fairs. When I was in my twenties I attended a large county fair in another state. There was a tent with “dancing girls” which I and my companions entered for five bucks each. Once inside we noted a local fellow who had paid extra money for a place at the edge of the stage. He had on overalls and black plastic frame glasses with welding spots on them, held together with electrical tape. He weighed at least 300 pounds. He did not appear to have spent much time in town. When one of the girls began to gyrate provocatively in front of his face expecting a tip, he lunged forward with surprising speed, buried his face in her g-string and seized her buttocks with both hands. The bouncers laid hands on him, and hit him many times with a shovel handle, but he would not let go. The girl was shrieking, the barker was cursing into the microphone at the top of his voice, and the sheriff and his deputies came running. My companions and I left.

So yes, the tent shows are in fact, unwholesome.

The Pennsylvania Farm Show as we now know it began in Harrisburg in 1917 and continues to this day, since 1931 in the massive multi-acre Farm Show complex at the north edge of town. Unlike traditional state fairs, the Farm Show isn’t a summer or early autumn affair, but occurs during the second week of January. The original intent of this schedule was to increase farmer’s attendance at the exhibition by holding it during their least busy time of year. By and large that schedule has worked well, but it puts the Farm Show into a crap shoot with the weather. Not infrequently, Farm Show week coincides with a savage winter storm or single digit cold. Surprisingly, it never seems to hurt attendance. Farm Show brings thousands of very rural Pennsylvanians to the State Capitol. They bring their money along, which has pleased generations of the city’s hotels, honky-tonks, restaurants, strip clubs, museums, tourist attractions, shopping emporiums, etc. Visitation is also swelled by many thousands of local and regional residents. It’s a great deal for families; aside from a nominal charge for parking, the farm show is free.

What began as a purely agricultural exhibition has evolved into a combination of the traditional farm exhibits and activities and more peripheral private and public sector exhibitors hoping to take advantage of the enormous crowds. There is also a lot of food. The “food court”, which features several acres of vendors and their clientele, dishes up delicacies and abominations in close proximity to each other. A few years ago, I watched an elderly food vendor from a rural part of Snyder County with tufts of hair protruding from his ears explain to an astonished hip-hop couple from Harrisburg the composition of the pieces of fried scrapple he was offering them as samples. When the actual content of the small grey cubes finally dawned on them, they acted as though he had invited them to participate in an act of cannibalism.

Most years I help staff an exhibit on Pennsylvania Archaeology hosted by several State agencies and non-profits. The exhibit always features a replica dugout canoe some 15 feet long that is a big hit with kids and their parents. It sometimes leads to some interesting exchanges.

Farmer: “What the hell is this?”
Exhibit Staffer: “It’s a replica dugout canoe like the Indians used.”
Farmer: “Make a hell of a pig trough.”

…and so on.

The exhibit also features a flint knapper, reenactor, and all-around astonishing character named Bob. Bob, who is some part Shawnee on his mother’s side, reenacts a Shawnee from the 18th century right down to the war club, breechcloth and scalp lock, and he engages visitors as he patiently produces stone tools. There is no doubt that a guy bristling with weapons and strange decorative items, sans pants, and making symmetrical and beautiful arrowheads draws a crowd. He can hold that crowd with an incredible string of banter that he can instantly adjust to the age and demographic in front of him at any given time. He would have made a superb classroom teacher, excepting the minor problem that he would likely eat the school board and principal and would cuss during parent-teacher conferences (he can be a little hot headed).

The exhibit’s worth doing. We had nearly 500 visitors in an hour, and whatever you’re promoting or selling, if you have a booth at the Farm Show, many thousands of people will see it.

If you’re not staffing a booth, the show is the show. You might see anything. A small child asks her grandmother about the prodigious set of equipment hanging between the legs of a prize Charolais bull. An old order Mennonite boy learns to eat Korean noodle soup with chopsticks from a West Indian kid with a head full of dreadlocks. A straining team of muscular Belgian horses pulls a concrete weight of impossible size across an arena infield before a cheering crowd. An elderly couple whirl through a square-dance competition, smiling and staring into each other’s eyes like they are the only people on earth. A large group of visitors stares transfixed at a multi-ton butter sculpture as though they were looking at David in the Academia.

You really should go.