So as I may have mentioned, I like festivals. And fairs. And carnivals and fests and bazaars and harvest celebrations. I don’t like faires though, that’s for hippies.
last week a few weeks ago my friend Ian (who also likes festivals) and I hitched up the buggy and rode on down to Verboort for their 76th Annual Sausage Festival. It’s held at Asenscion church in the small Dutch farming community of Verboort, Oregon.
Presumably it always occurs on the first Saturday in November, but the quotation marks confuse me. Perhaps that’s actually some sort of euphemism or the title of a song.
Anyway, this event so charmingly referred to as a “dinner”starts at 9 in the morning, and for one, precious, pork-filled day you may buy, smell and consume delicious traditional hand-made sausage to your heart’s content.
Correction: To almost anyone’s heart’s content.
First thing’s first. We stand in a long line in the early morning air which is scented by huge redwood trees and pork.
And then we buy bags of sausages selected from an enormous pile and sold by relentlessly chipper high school kids. I should have taken pictures of this part of the process, but I was a bit overwhelmed by the presence of so much sausage.
THEN, we meander over to the sauerkraut hut. What, you thought they weren’t going to provide a side dish? These people are Catholics.
Mmmmm… don’t those huge vats of
shit sauerkraut look fucking appetizing? And yes, that’s a port-a-potty in the edge of the frame.
So now we have a bucket of sauerkraut and approximately 20 lbs of sausage, but our day has just begun! There is so much more fun in store that someone might puke by the end of the day. In fact, I can almost guarantee it.
So now we’re on the horns of a dilemma. In conjunction with the massive sausage fire sale, the church hosts a community dinner. This is a full meal, a very full meal, with desert, and it’s now about 11am. I generally don’t eat before, oh say dark, so that seems a bit much, but the tempting scent of sausage has been wafting like a motherfucker and so I am perfectly happy to be talked into a little sausage-in-a-bun action. (Don’t get any ideas, we’re practically in a church.)
Waiting in line with farmers.
After this, you wouldn’t think there could be any more festiveness, would you? Well, you would be wrong, but I bet you’re used to that.
First, there’s a church to look at. I know, I know, I’m a bit of a blasphemer, but I do dig me some religious art and architecture.
Look, I'm taking a picture, not bursting into flames!
Wow, I wonder what he did?
I told you to stop picking at it
I also like nuns, although clearly it’s not mutual.
But that’s not even everything!
There is also a fish pond in the motherfucking gym.
Ok, so there’s not. what there is though, is an old-school church bazaar complete with fake pond where you fish for dimes with a magnet, pounds and pounds of sickly-sweet homemade candy and antler art (oh yeah, with google eyes.) There are also nice little Dutch ladies who will sell you hand embroidered tea towels depicting a squirrel, say. Or a scary clown holding a large fish.
I told you! Hats and everything!
There’s also a beer garden held down the road at the Verboort Rod and Gun Club (not even kidding) which we decided to skip because it was still like, morning. And everyone knows that morning is for hard liquor. We did, however, venture to the Verboort Pioneer Cemetery which was conveniently located across an expanse of field from the beer garden so we felt included.
Half-time Jesus showers blessings on your sausage