I went up to the Eastern States Exposition, or the Big E, for the first time last month. The Big E is a conglomeration of the New England states’ state fairs, with all of the attractions and trappings of such events. I enjoy fair visits.I remember many trips as a child to the Michigan State Fair. State fairs typically display and promote agricultural produce and farm animals. The Michigan State Fairgrounds were located at 8 Mile and Woodward: the staples of rural farm life simply seemed out of place in the decaying (even back then) urban setting of Detroit. Sadly, the Michigan State Fair, started in 1849 and claimed to be the oldest state fair in the country, lost its state funding in 2009 and attracted only 200,000 visitors (attendance peaked at 1.2 million in 1966 — interestingly, the year before the 1967 race riots in Detroit). The fair was not held in the following two years, and was resurrected in a different suburban location this year. I am not aware how successful the new event was.While stationed in Germany in the early 1990s, all of the German towns, big and small, had their annual volksfests. Munich’s Oktoberfest is the world’s largest fair, drawing 6 million visitors over its 16 days of celebration. Those visitors drink nearly 10 million liters of beer. For a few years, I contributed to that total (and, with some Army buddies, spent a few nights sleeping on benches in the bahnhof train station). Those Germans could drink a whole heck of a lot of beer — no way could us lightweight Americans keep pace. I didn’t even try, so I can at least remember my Oktoberfest days!So much of a fair visit involves food. Most of it isn’t very healthy. The German festivals had plenty of brats, ham hocks, sausages, cheeses, potato pancakes, and pretzels (and did I mention the beer?). Many German towns also had winter festivals, and the food at those events also included waffles and gluhwien, a hot, spicy wine drink that warmed you all over.With true German volksfests now an ocean and continent away, I was introduced several years ago to an incredible replica volksfest in northern Ohio, the annual German American Friendship Festival (held the weekend before Labor Day weekend in suburban Toledo). The atmosphere, beer, wine, food, music and dancing was wonderfully reminiscent of my time in Germany. Now living here, Ohio might as well be Germany with regard to distance, so I haven’t returned to Toledo for a couple years. Great time and highly recommended, though, if you ever have the opportunity to visit.So, with all those fair memories and gastronomic anticipation, we headed north to Springfield. As a Big E rookie, I simply followed the directions recommended by the Big E’s web site: over to I-91 north to Massachusetts Route 5. The traffic was atrocious on Route 5 — we sat pretty much motionless for nearly two hours in traffic lined for miles. I sent an email from my Blackberry to the fair organizers complaining about the lack of traffic control. The response I received basically said don’t come on the weekend because it’s less crowded during the week. I’ll take a different path next year.Once we made it through the gates (parking at an off-site lot), the fair atmosphere was everything that I enjoy: the people, the smells of food and animals, the music, the various hawkers, the overall “buzz.” We ate lobster rolls, chili cheese fries, gyros and fried dough. We could have eaten worse — we steered clear of the fried cheesecake, fried Twinkies, funnel cakes, and fried whoopee pies. They probably would have tasted good, though!I was a little disappointed in the farm animals. Not being familiar with the fair schedule, I didn’t realize that many animals are only at the fair for a short time. We got to see plenty of cows and a few horses, but didn’t see many of the smaller animals: pigs, goats, chickens and rabbits. I’ll look more closely at the schedule for next year.The huge vendor halls were interesting, mainly because of the variety of goods and people. I found a tie vendor and bought new Halloween and Christmas ties. I had been looking all over for those specialty ties!Fairs are fun, but can be expensive for families (but isn’t everything these days?). I look forward to exploring other area fairs next year. If you have any recommendations, please let me know. Dale Martin is the town manager of Winchester.
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Dick Hermans in the Oblong Bookstore on Millerton\u2019s Main Street in 1985.
Provided
For Hermans, the award has prompted some reflection about why he has spent so much of his life involved in community projects.
“I was thinking about it this morning: Why do I do what I do?” he said. “And I think no matter what I’ve done, whether it’s been school board or rail trail, I’m trying to be useful to the communities I’m associated with.”
Hermans is perhaps best known as the longtime co-founder and steward of Oblong Books in Millerton, a business that began almost by accident. He and his former partner, Holly Nelson, were living in Millerton and looking for something to do during the winter. They had been painting houses, including the Grange Hall in Millerton, a job Hermans got through his aunt, who belonged to the Grange.
At the time, Hermans was also working in insurance for his father, doing collections.
“It was fine except I was doing collections, and it really kind of left me cold,” he said.
He and Nelson began thinking about what they might do together. Nelson was an avid reader, while Hermans had studied journalism and had worked in a record store. They noticed a chain of book and record stores operating elsewhere in the Hudson Valley and decided to follow that model.
And so Oblong was born.
Dick Hermans in the Oblong Bookstore on Millerton’s Main Street in 1985.Provided
“We really learned it by the seat of our pants,” Hermans said.
The business would eventually become a beloved and integral part of Millerton’s commercial life. But although Hermans may have learned the book business as he went, his affinity for retail — and for the connections that happen across a counter — had begun much earlier.
As a child, his second-grade teacher operated a little cardboard pencil shop in the classroom, and Hermans still remembers the satisfaction of selling a pencil for a nickel.
“I really liked selling somebody a pencil for a nickel,” he recalled. “I can remember that experience, and it was so pleasant.”
Later, while living in Arizona, he helped establish a food co-op and worked at the counter.
“I kind of knew that I liked doing that kind of thing,” he said. “It’s a nice way to be pleasant with people, but without making too much commitment to them.”
His relationship with Millerton also predates Oblong. His grandparents lived in the village, and he first came to Millerton as a baby. Over the years, he has watched the town change through several generations.
He remembers a Millerton with a much broader array of businesses, when stores such as Delson’s, the Main Street department store that stood for nearly 40 years in what is now Millerton’s Antiques Center, seemed to carry almost everything a resident might need.
“You could find everything from a set of dishes to a shotgun,” he recalled.
The rise of shopping malls changed that kind of downtown retail, he said, but Millerton has remained a lively commercial village.
“For us, it’s been a great place to have business,” Hermans said. “It’s a busy village.”
For Hermans, running a store was never simply about selling books and records. It was a way of being part of a place.
Music has remained another constant. Hermans continues to sell music at Oblong and hosts the radio program “New Harmony” on WKZE. The business of selling music has changed dramatically over the years, particularly with the rise of streaming, but Hermans has adapted.
He was initially reluctant to bring vinyl records back into the store because of their expense. But about four or five years ago, he began stocking LPs again, and they have become the main form of music the store sells.
He finds that many of the customers buying them are reconnecting with music they loved years ago.
“I do best with classic albums that people may have had when they were young,” he said. “And now that they’re retired, they want to hear it again.”
Hermans still reviews between 700 and 1,200 new music releases each week through the store’s distributor, Alliance Entertainment, carefully deciding what belongs on Oblong’s shelves.
That same commitment to place has led Hermans into a wide range of community projects. His work with the Harlem Valley Rail Trail is among the efforts he mentions when reflecting on his years of civic involvement. He has also served on the school board and has been involved with the Millerton Business Alliance and the Irondale Schoolhouse. He is now involved with The New Pine Plains Herald, which he sees as complementary to the work of The Millerton News and The Lakeville Journal.
“I really think that the important thing about this award is that people understand what a newspaper does to connect them to their community,” he said. “And if that means anything to their lives, they gotta support it.”
Hermans knew Mary Lou and Robert Estabrook and remembers them as people who were deeply conscious of their responsibilities to the community.
“They were really nice folks,” he said. “They were very conscious of what their role in the community was.”
There is, in fact, still plenty on his plate. Hermans admits he needs to scale back because he has taken on more than his current abilities can comfortably accommodate.
“To be given this award is very special,” he added. “But I don’t feel like I’m done.”
This article has been changed to reflect that Hermans and Nelson were partners. A prior version states that they were married.
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Adamah Farm crew members planning out the day’s tasks on a late September day.
Janna Siller
Over my 15 years of growing vegetables in Falls Village, I’ve exerted my will over all kinds of conditions, from drought to humidity to crows with a taste for cantaloupe. That’s what farming is all about. You zip around the field, hopping on and off tractors, moving hoses and chasing weeds, all in an effort to arrange conditions in favor of your crops. It is the crops’ job to gulp up sunlight and move water through their stems, to transform solar energy into your next pesto or ratatouille or butternut squash soup. It is the job of the farmer to irrigate just enough but not too much, to slice dandelion leaves without damaging delicate cabbage roots, to pander and pamper and stay in tune with what plants need to thrive.
The easy part of farming is trusting plants’ resilience. I have seen bright green shoots barrel ahead out of a plant torn to shreds by hail. I’ve watched wilty, heat-stressed seedlings turn rigid overnight and greet the next morning with vigor. The hard part is letting go of what you can’t control. As our crops lapped up Friday’s gentle sunshine and I considered the weekend forecast, I imagined roots holding tight to wet earth and branches supporting each other in sideways, pelting rain. I made sure all of our storage crops were already harvested and tucked away. I battened down the sides of our greenhouses and wished the remaining field crops good luck.
The nor’easter didn’t materialize too dramatically in our corner of New England. A few broken branches and debris blown about, nothing like the July Fourth storm that sent half a tree crashing onto the deer fence and left crates of fresh veggies in coolers without power.
Fall storage crop harvests amid soil building cover crops at Adamah Farm in Falls Village. Janna Siller
Farming is an exercise in acceptance. To do it well and return year after year, you have to balance hubris and humility. The prize can often be a certain equanimity, a training in the art of moving into the next day even when the last one scrambled all your plans.
Epic change is not always about the unexpected. It also comes like clockwork on the seasonal calendar. As I type, the last of summer’s watermelons wait naively on the vine for a few hot days to finish ripening. Broccoli are holding their leaves wide as they did in June and July, only to find that the hours of sunlight decrease with each earlier sunset. Plants can’t pick up and go south or call the manager to order a bonus round of sunshine. Their growth slows and they get a resigned look to the hue of their leaves, so different from the frenzied growth of summer.
The release of fall is not tragic or gloomy. It is not an ending because so many fall tasks are about setting up for the new beginnings in spring.
We turn the vines that yielded thousands of pounds of fruit into the soil, where healthy microbes feast on their rotting stems. Then we plant cover crops — a mix of cereal grains like rye and oats and legumes like peas, vetch and clover. Cover crops hold the soil and its nutrients in place over winter, feeding the soil food web and adding organic matter that next season’s crops will need to grow.
We sort sprinklers and repair hoses. We inventory tarps. We take notes about which plants did well where and how we might try a new approach for this or that. We stack crates of cured garlic and onions and winter squash in a cool, dark room.
We save seeds from tomatoes and beans and lettuce, carefully labeling each variety for next season’s long, sunny days.
Janna Siller is the farm director at Adamah, a community farm in Falls Village offering CSA shares, educational programs and a food access program.
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