Scarecrows ... or BUDDYcrows??

At least a month ago, I was driving around the north country, and happened to pass a farm - not, in itself, surprising - that was swarming with guys putting up scarecrows. But they weren't putting them up in the fields, in the hopes of scaring away deer or crows or whatever other animals plague farmers. They were arranging them in scenes - painting the barn or sitting next to it or looking at other scarecrows and one clearly about to fall off his ladder.

Needless to say, I was amused. And curious. And then life got in the way and I forgot all about it.

Then that farm and I crossed paths again, and I stopped to see what was going on. In addition to a great story, I met some of the kindest people I've ever met in my life.

It seems to be a theme here that despite having a slight - and hopefully benign - superiority complex, I somehow get sucked into the culture up here and end up loving it. Well, this farm and the people creating a whole new city of scarecrows were no exception.

It was a Friday afternoon and I was all about going home and getting my weekend started right, but I ended up hanging out with the Maslins for at least two hours. And trekking all over their fields in two-and-a-half-inch heels. Because I'm really good at planning, sometimes.

But I digress. In my two hours hanging out with this family - which consists of five sons and six grandchildren - I really felt like I became part of them. They were telling me all about themselves - their past, which is colorful, to say the least. And how Andy Sr.'s wife died tragically and suddenly of cancer over the summer and how all they want to do is make people happy. But people say that all the time and you can tell they don't mean it. The Maslins do.

To that end, Andy Sr. takes all the crap he's accumulated over the years - he's a pack rat to the nth degree - and makes games and attractions out of it. So the old exercise equipment becomes a couple scarecrows working out at an outdoor gym. And a bunch of old saws become an exhibit on wood chopping through the years, as demonstrated by scarecrows. And an old washing machine and a big tub are a history lesson about dirty laundry.

Scarecrows are sitting or leaning on fences along the path of the wagon ride - I thought one looked like Tom Sawyer and a friend thought another looked like it had drank too much tequila. Both observations delighted Andy, because he wants people to come up with stories about these silly hay-stuffed people dressed in old clothes he couldn't bear to throw away. So much so that he's been talking to a writer about doing a children's book about his buddycrows, as he calls them. So named because he doesn't believe in all the scary stuff that has come to be synonymous with Halloween.

The next week, Andy called me to thank me for coming out and talking to them. He then told me that I should consider myself a part of the family and feel free to come over and hang out with them whenever I want. I've already done it a few times, and had a great time both times I saw them.

When my friend Kaitlyn went over to do a story about Scarecrow Fantasyland, Andy sent her home with a box of organic apples and pears for the two of us to share, since she mentioned we were friends, and a similar invitation to be a part of the family.

I also can't wait to go back and see the site, now that it's all completed. I'm most excited for the corn maze. The Maslins, of course, were amazed when I told them I'd never been in a cornfield before. I wonder if I'll meet Shoeless Joe Jackson.

Things like this would never happen downstate.

cream cheese is fun, as well as delicious

Unfortunately, I missed this event. I was terribly disappointed about it, for as we all know, I am pretty much obsessed with cheesecake. And I missed what may have been the biggest one of all. Not to mention a cheesecake-filling-eating contest. I'm pretty sure whoever won is thrilled that I wasn't there, because I could probably have kicked ass. But my hips are thanking me for missing out on this one.

Anyway, check it out here.

Or here, in case you don't believe me.

Come, savor my disappointment and sadness with me. Next year, I'm all about going. Whether I'm still living here or not. Who's in? I'm thinking road trip.

The first weekend

All over the north country, there appear to be lots of town and village festivals. I guess since there's not too much else to do, local chambers of commerce and the like get inventive. So my first weekend in my apartment, I experienced my village's very own summer festival.

And it was hilarious. Of course it had the necessary craft fair and a radio station was there. And it ended in fireworks and there was fried dough and a book sale at the library. But that can be found anywhere.

The highlight - and the only part I really got to see - involved bed races. Two gurney-looking things, teams of five, and a stretch of Main Street, which of course, had been closed down for the affair.

How it works:
Four people push the "bed" - one at each bedpost.
One person on top of the bed, holding on for dear life.
Oh, the bed has wheels.
The team pushes the bed down maybe 50 feet of Main Street.
They stop, the one on top has to get off and chug a small cup of beer.
Jump back on and away they race to the top.

It was done in heats - two teams at a time. Until of course, one of the wheels broke off one of the beds and snapped in half because of the massive cracks on one side of the street. Then they did it one at a time, but the one team that went fastest of the two paired together advanced to the next heat. Obviously, it was sponsored by the biker bar across the street from my apartment. That's key.

It was awesome. The street was packed with people watching, the team member on top got progressively more drunk as the heats went on, and at one point, one of the beds actually flipped over. That was fantastic. Thankfully, no one was hurt. Ironically, that was not when the wheel snapped in half, though it may have compromised its structural integrity.

At first I thought it was absolutely the stupidest thing I've ever seen. Then, to my surprise, I got totally into it and was rooting for a team or two - cheering them on and everything. Granted, I was cheering quietly - I wasn't whooping or anything. And one of the teams I was rooting for actually won, so that was even cooler.

Then there were the duck races. I had to leave before they started, but I heard about them. It involved plastic ducks - think rubber ducks but not squeezable. The woman who owns the hardware store, and is great, went around in a ridiculous hat that looked like a duck's head - complete with beak in place of the rim and a tuft of feather at the crown. This is a 50+ year old woman, by the way. She was selling the ducks to residents, along with plastic quackers to "cheer on" your not-quite-sentient duck.

There's nothing funnier than seeing grown men and women with quackers around their necks, blowing them - they sounded kind of like kazoos as blown by a duck - in each other's faces. And precious little more annoying after the first 15 minutes when you have neither your own quacker nor a beer - or five - in your hand.

The race part, which I didn't see, apparently had to do with the plastic ducks being released down a short, netted, stretch of the river to float down to the finish line. I'm not sure how they could tell the ducks apart, but I wouldn't put it past some people to decorate theirs with glitter, or at least sharpies. I would have.