My first Oregon Country Fair experience: Dusty, kooky, wonderful 

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Water bottle? Check. Sun hat? Yup. 

Ability to fully experience a countercultural icon that has lasted for more than half a century and attracts tens of thousands of people into a sprawling, whimsical woodland? 

After attending my first Oregon Country Fair, I’m still working on that. 

I recently moved to Eugene, and I’ve now been back and forth to Veneta a few times in the wind-up to the Country Fair, always as a reporter. 

But as I’ve been interviewing, I’ve been asking for recommendations for other first-timers (“fair virgins,” I was told). They’re pretty consistent: stay hydrated, try the food, use your map, wear comfortable shoes.

Sam Stenzler, 17, has been going to the Country Fair since she was two months old with her family’s vendor tent. She told me to watch out around 2 p.m. for when the path gets crowded. I filed that specific detail away for when I could take off my reporter hat. 

The Country Fair itself recommends people take the bus. So Saturday, I finally went as a visitor, starting with a slightly cramped but otherwise lovely free bus ride from downtown Eugene. 

I went for standing room only so I could get a spot earlier, vital in the heat. Lane County declared a heat advisory for Sunday, but even today, the sun was beating down over the whole county. 

It made me glad I grabbed the sun hat, which I thought looked a bit goofy on me, but now I love. It completed my fair outfit, which I knew in advance would be far outranked by elf ears, fairy get-ups and intricate costumes — or, for some, artful lack of costumes — that I had seen even during media hours. I grabbed a sufficiently flowy dress and sandals, and committed to being on the casual side of things.

I knew heading in, that just one day’s ticket meant nowhere near enough time or access to the whole experience that insiders know well. I grabbed a Peach Pit — the fair’s publication and guide — at the gates and was on my way. 

Even after using the map in my Peach Pit, I got lost a few times. Orienting myself by the booth numbers was vital. And around 2 p.m., I found Stenzler had been right, as the path was, indeed, crowded. 

I was excited for the food, but the large lunchtime lines limited what food I was willing to wait for. That’s not even including the treacherously long ATM line to get more cash for the top-dollar menu items my eyes were drawn to. That’s on me: I didn’t even follow my own published recommendations. 

That line was unthinkable in the sun. As was most of the Xavanadu meadow; its wide-open space with little tree-cover made it an easy call to only pop in.

I found ways to cope with the heat. The trees overhead were helpful on much of the path, with canopy shading the walkers below. Vegan ice cream vendor Coconut Bliss was a cure-all. Fountains to fill up my water bottle were frequent, which was also vital. The occasional water gun sprays into the crowd were less impactful, but still appreciated.

I eventually covered most of the grounds on my long walk, but passed the Ritz showers. I was not brave enough to communally shower with other fair attendees. It would have been a way to see the musician Reggie Watts, who I love, hours before his scheduled concert, but some things are just beyond a first-year trip.

Merchandise and art prices made me weep for my checking account. I practiced restraint as I gazed at bespoke art: intricate marionettes, psychedelic paintings, and commemorative pins and mugs with the fair’s peach logo. The priciest thing I saw was a bison pelt, woolly to the touch, at just under $1,700 (in case you’re in the market).

But my favorite souvenir was a free one. I popped into a craft demonstration with a friendly blacksmith, and was given a handmade coat hook and nail he forged and struck against an anvil a few feet in front of me. That beats a t-shirt any day. 

I love live music, and found myself in the front row of the Rainbow Girls set at the fair’s Main Stage on Saturday. The California band wore red, white and blue, to take the colors back from politicians they decried as fascists as they talked politics in between songs. Their set strayed from lush harmonies, to near-headbanging rhythm to dance around to. 

Dance I did: I swayed, I jumped, I boogied. I felt rain, and looked up to see overheard sprinklers cooling us off. I turned around to see puppets: large ones with individual puppeteers piloting hands over the crowd, and smaller salmon puppets jumping above a fabric sheet “stream.” 

In between songs, the Rainbow Girls asked the crowd who was there with friends and who was there alone (my partner did not want to pay $60 to be sweaty in the woods, which is fair). I cheered with the other solo folks, a surprising number of us up near the front of the stage, before I felt a hand on my shoulder. 

It was a woman who had just finished hugging someone else and was about to hug me. “No, girls, you’re not alone,” she said. We hugged, and then she slipped back into the crowd. 

This may not be your scene, but I was touched. Hours later, I’m sitting at home with extremely dirty Tevas, more than five miles on my iPhone step counter and plans for next July. Also, a sunburn — I’m adding sunscreen to my list.