Fryeburg Fair, part three – he’s talking cows.

When I see cows in a field as we’re driving in the country? I’m compelled to announce it.

“Cow!”

But when I’m walking around the Fryeburg fair surrounded by bodacious bovines?

I just sigh with adoration.

My husband was raised on a dairy farm and the man knows cows. Which is why I think it’s cruel he won’t let me have one.. or ten. Of course I don’t want to muck out stalls or water them when it’s 10 below, which could be a deciding factor in his refusal.

So I get my cow fix when we go to fairs. I love the Belted Galloways which we always call Oreo cows.

The one in the middle is clearly a double stuff.

And look, there’s a vanilla cream.

While I was adoring?

The husband was talking.

And talking.

About cows.

And after 20 minutes, about politics. Which is odd because I don’t think cows vote.

Did you know a cow isn’t technically a cow until she has a calf?

Now you do.

Can I get an awwww?

Scottish Highlands are so fuzzy I just want to curl up with a few and stroke them for hours.

This little beauty was only three days old! Momma delivered at the fair.

There’s the husband, talking cows again.

Did you know your veal parmigiana is almost always male?

Now you do.

And because no fair visit is complete without a beauty pageant.

Cow!

🐄

14 thoughts on “Fryeburg Fair, part three – he’s talking cows.”

This was such a cool post! Moooosic to my eyes, since I grew up with cows. Nothing like fresh milk, butter, cottage cheese, etc.
Those belted cows gave me a touch of nostalgia.( I didn’t know cows came in that color) Our neighbors had belted hogs, and my dad hated them. He liked a pure white hog for butchering!

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