I know that Mainers dig festivals of all sorts, but what we ran into on this 65 degree overcast Saturday morning was insane. There were about a thousand million people packed onto the grounds of the elementary school in the middle of town. And for what? A glimpse of The Great Strawberry? I was unsure?
However, there was no Great Strawberry. In fact, there weren't really any strawberries at all. Much to the chagrin of my taste buds, we didn't get to eat a single strawberry or even anything strawberry-flavored. There was one booth that was selling strawberry shortcake, but the line wrapped around the tent 10 times and was backed up to Ohio, so we opted to skip it.
The kids did indulge in some fried dough. The number of booths selling strawberry shortcake was equal to the number of booths selling fried dough: one. I wondered why this event was called a Strawberry Festival, I mean it could've just as easily have been called a Fried Dough festival? Both equally appealing, right?
There was also a strange sounding white female group "singing" Motown classics. That was scary and it made my ears hurt. Ariel didn't know whether to laugh or dry heave and she felt sorrow in her heart for the murdering of a Marvin Gaye classic. I was right there with her.
There was also a moonbounce. My mom and Papa G waited in line with Maya for 25 minutes to get her onto the moonbounce for 4 minutes. Apparently she wasn't finishing bouncing after the 4 minute allotment. Grandma and Papa were good sports about letting her finish her routine as they made their way through the crowd.