“I am a city child,” said Eloise at the Plaza. I completely agreed, even though I was, in truth, a small town girl. In my heart, I was a city child, though. To the surprise of no one, I moved to New York City for college. Six years later, and I haven’t left. But I’ve been cheating lately. It started with a pair of cowboy boots, and evolved into a devotion to country music. Last weekend, I skipped town to attend the Pennsylvania State Farm Show with my mom and baby sister.
The first thing we saw was the butter sculpture of a kid sticking his head out of the school bus, and cow standing in front of said bus. It wasn’t life size—but it was pretty big (imagine 900 pounds of butter!).
Then it was onto the livestock auction, and then the hall containing all the goats, sheep and pigs. I had no idea pigs were so huge. In order to move them, you kind of have to poke them with a stick and push them along through the aisles crowded with people. After all, you can’t really put a leash and collar on a pig. One kind of bumped into my sister’s stroller.
We saw a cow having its fur blow-dried. No, I don’t know why.
It was onto the food court next, since according to my mom, it gets so crowded late in the afternoon that people take to lying on the floor. That was a bit of an exaggeration, but we did have to sit on the floor.
The highlight of the entire farm show is the high-school rodeo. Calf roping, barrel racing, and bull riding—but all done by 13 to 18 year kids. The arena was so packed my mum and I had to sit on the stairs. There was lots of cheering, which made some of the horses skittish, especially if it was their first time in the arena. But mostly, these kids were absolutely amazing.
To finish off the weekend, what better way to blend town and country that watching the championship of the Professional Bull Riders at Madison Square Garden? Seriously. Bull Riding in New York City.
The show began with some pyrotechnics and was followed by an introduction of all of the cowboys riding that afternoon. Then the lights dimmed and we all stood to pray for safety of “the cowboys, livestock and fans of PBR.”
Basically, to “ride” you have to stay on a bucking bull for 8 seconds. Any less, and it doesn’t count. Should one manage to stay on for 8 seconds, they get a score—what it’s based on, or how it’s calculated, I have no idea. But if someone got a score of 90 points or higher, we all cheered a little louder, and there was a big burst of confetti and streamers.
Even though it’s “the toughest sport on dirt”, these cowboys don’t wear helmets. Neither did the kids in the High School Rodeo. I know. Apparently, a cowboy hat is all the protection you need.
