HANOVER CENTER, N.H. -- Audrey Gilman has been watching beasts of burden do her family's dirty work for the past 34 years.
It's only on special occasions, though, that she can sit in on the process for pure enjoyment.
Lounging in a lawn chair Saturday at the 42nd annual Old Timer's Fair with her husband and several of their close friends, Gilman, of Salmonton, N.H., cheered on this year's prizewinning oxen as they dragged concrete slabs back and forth across a dusty field. In Hanover Center, a small village several miles east of the Green, this event is less a novelty than a way of life. Today's equal-opportunity environment means that it's also open to anyone who wants to partake in the fun, although Gilman herself has decided to remain on the sidelines " at least during these festivities.
"It's not a very feminine sport," Gilman said, her eyes fixed on the animals at work, "but there are some women who pull."
Over the decades, the Gilman family has collected prizes and cash bounties for just this: training oxen to do one's bidding, and to do it right. Those unaccustomed to this rural sport often view it as brutal. Those used to it hold a deep appreciation for its intricacies. Either way, it all boils down to one man, his beasts and something heavy to lift.
As we scoped out the scene, it appeared that the 50-odd country folk gathered by the field fell in the pro side of the for-oxen pulling debate. The event in many ways resembled a televised golf tournament. Solemnity, not flashiness, took precedent. In between periods of pensiveness came reserved clapping, always at the same, measured three-second cadence.
"I mean, you wouldn't sit out in the hot sun like this if you didn't like it," Gilman said with authority, adding that the prizes awarded by the judges are what keep some people returning year after year.
"Some people say they like ribbons more than money," she said. "But you can't spend ribbons!"
Still, there would be nothing of either sort for us, we decided, so why stick around? Besides, the oxen had begun to stink. Definitely time to move on, this time to the Old Timers themselves.
This was a rather short journey, as most of these people didn't classify as speed demons. In fact, few could even qualify as being spry. But when it came to harkening back to the Old Timer's fairs of yesteryear (when they, in fact, were young-timers), these ladies and gentlemen were nobody's competition.
"I come mainly just to meet some of my old friends and folks," said 79 year-old Etna native Andrew Kuhrie. "There ain't too many of 'em left now."
"It's a nice little family affair," added fellow Etna resident and 20-year Fair veteran Ron Labombarg as he sat under the shade of the perennially popular auction tent. "Always the same."
Quite possibly, some of the auctioned goods might also fit that description. A range of bric-a-brac in various conditions transferred hands during the fast-paced antiques-fest, as the audience made judgment calls on the real value of each product purchased.
"So Martha Sue still's trying to pass along that piece-of-trash ladle Hubert bought her for her 50th birthday, eh," two observers said about an item that was going and going but never made it to gone. "Fat chance on that one!"
Alright, so we were the observers. You've always got to shake things up once in a while, if not cause an outright ruckus.
So back to the auction. We didn't need a giant-sized dish drawer ourselves, but if you're looking for one, head over to Hanover Center next year. All proceeds go toward a good cause, the Hanover Center Congregational Church. But arrive on time; the good stuff goes quickly, and what's rest isn't always what's best.
It's true, however, that what's been described so far hasn't been all that kid-friendly. Were young-timers even allowed onto the fairgrounds, you ask? We got into the moon bounce to do some searching. And in the cotton candy line. And by the hot-dog vendor. Yes, they were there, screaming, and in control of the fair " and their parents' wallets.
(This may be Small Town, U.S.A., but things still cost money. Unless you're in college and without cash, in which case Hanover Center, N.H. may be the closest thing Dartmouth students have to their own personal charities.)
No matter what your age or financial status, the place to be at the close of the afternoon was by the steps of the church, at the fiddle fair. Sounds kind of hickish, but once in a while, it's nice to do as the natives do. But after a half-hour spent listening to the twang of string instruments playing folk tunes, the crowd (us included) seemed to grow tired, as if they had overdosed on pastoral living. The simple fair for simple folk became, well, too quaint to handle.
And back to the big-city lights of Hanover we drove.
