As orange leaves hit the ground and harvest season goes into full swing, so is western Maine’s agricultural fair season, which will end in all its blue-ribbon glory with the Fryeburg Fair on Oct. 6.

For some, fairs mean games, rides, food and all-around fun. But for many, it’s an annual tradition steeped in family, community and meaning tied deeply to the land.

It’s friends and neighbors participating in agricultural and folk events that include horse, steer and oxen pulls, livestock judging, vegetable and flower exhibitions, home-made food contests, barrel and harness racing, tractor and truck pulls, demolition derbies, 4-H events, and even baby judging. And throughout, families and neighbors meeting to catch up, have fun, and support each other.

As a University of Maine at Farmington student, I’d attended the local fair just about every year from 2008 to 2012, most as a scraggly semi-educated bachelor. Once graduated — and more well-kempt and with much better grades at the insistence of my then-girlfriend and now-wife — the fair became a matter of couple’s fun. Of course, once we had the kids, the fair became more about kids’ fun and, later, education, too.

Walking down the midway at the Litchfield Fair last Saturday, it occurred to me it had been a long time since I attended a fair on my own. Taking in the atmosphere of an event so many American cities and towns hold, each with its own unique spin, was both a trip down memory lane and a good lesson in what it all means.

Fairs, at their core, are for communities, for family, friends, neighbors and local farmers and businesses. You don’t need a newsman to tell you that, if you’ve ever been to one. However, fairs are so much more personal than that for so many.

There’s the dairy farmer who spends countless hours preparing their livestock to turn a couple blue ribbons or, simply, to stand sentry in a stall waiting to change even one city kid’s life by a couple basic facts and the opportunity to get up close and personal.

There are the grandmas and grandpas enjoying the spectacle of future generations having the very same fun and enlightenment that seemed only like yesterday to them.

There are the kids and young adults in the local 4-H group just dying to show off a year’s worth of hard work and experience raising livestock.

There is the competitive cattle rancher and the sunflower grower, both hoping their efforts will edge out the competition for glory and a nice cash prize.

There are even the lovers who, despite the hundreds of fairgoers in their path, drift through the crowd and share kisses on the midway.

And there’s the solitary person who may have just needed a walk down the midway to remember what it’s all about.

During my day at the Litchfield Fair, it was so good just to watch other people enjoying the fair in the many ways they do.

‘I CAN’T WAIT TO CATCH A PIG’

I found out from Dawn Mills, advertising superintendent for the fair, that just watching people and events is one of the many things that make going to your local fair so special.

“I make sure I get to see the things that I need to see,” Mills said. “Today, I was down watching the barrel races, because I like to see that. Tomorrow, I’ll be over there watching the draft horses. Then, I get to watch my granddaughter cheer and watch my grandson go on his first ride. Those things feel good.”

Now, I didn’t bump into Mills by accident. While she was watching the barrel races, I was frantically texting her and searching for someone in the know to introduce me to the head honchos at the pig scramble. I was scheduled to assist volunteers fetching and directing the piglets.

While I would meet up with Mills after the event, I was lucky enough to stumble upon a group of volunteers just outside the pig scramble arena. A quick phone call to fair President Charlie Smith assured me I was in the right place almost at the right time — the scramble would kick off in about 20 minutes.

The aroma of fair fare gave way to the smells of fresh-dragged dirt, livestock and, soon enough, the unique fragrance of bacon incarnate as I headed into the arena. I came upon a couple parents and their kids and asked them if they would be among the chaos just over the fence.

T. Field said she and her boys — 5 and 6 years old and both named Ty — were visiting her hometown from New Jersey. Field said she grew up coming to the fair and caught a pig of her own when she was a little girl.

“I just want them to have that experience,” Field said.

Six-year-old Ty said he wasn’t entering the contest since he’s already won a pig at a previous fair.

No so for 5-year-old Ty. “I can’t wait to catch a pig.”

Casey Cobb of Windham brought her son Oliver, 5, who was looking to bag his own pig to bring home. I learned Cobb was a classmate; we both attended UMF at the same time. After reflecting on that connection, including agreeing that the Farmington Fair is fantastic, Oliver needed a mild talking to as his sugar high from fair food and excitement over the upcoming scramble overcame him.

I interjected. “What if he bags a pig?” I asked Casey, likely adding fuel to Oliver’s fire.

“We even came ready with a cage just in case,” Casey laughed. “I don’t want a pig loose in my SUV.”

Melanie Page, scramble superintendent, found me with about five minutes to go before the scramble started. I tucked my writing pad in my back pocket as Page, like a whirlwind, led me around the announcer’s booth into the arena.

The scramble was held for two age categories, 5-year-olds and 6-year-olds, she said, each with 10 children, drawn at random from signups leading up to the event. Each scramble had five pigs and the children had five minutes in which to grab one.

The pigs were handed over the fence by the back legs, each fairly docile in transit, even from one pair of hands to another. Flanked by eager volunteers, I managed only to grab two, but that was probably for the best. Putting the swine back onto all fours was an awkward and undignified task, and each piglet let me know it with the same looks of pity and concern I returned to them. Once successfully flipped onto all fours, the pigs congregated and began attempting to root the arena. They reacted in disgust when the only things they could find in the loose dirt were the odd rock and horse scat.

Smith then appeared by my side and walked me through the motions of grabbing a caught pig and lowering it into a burlap sack. He said winners looking to keep their pigs would need to make quick work of getting the animal to their vehicles and unbagged within 15 minutes.

“Or what?” I asked.

“Well, they can die,” Smith said. “From the heat and exhaustion.”

‘BZZT! IT’LL ZAP ‘EM.’

In the meantime, the children, much more nervous so far than the pigs, were called out by name from the considerable crowd, brought into the arena and lined up. Some of the kids were excited and ready to run while others were clearly having second thoughts.

Smith said it’s common to see one or two kids bolt for mom or dad waiting right behind the gates, but they’re usually turned back around successfully and encouraged to join in.

And he was right.

In each of the scrambles, at least two runners abandoned the starting line, but were coaxed to return in time for the “One, two, three, go!”

What ensued was the pure slapstick chaos that only small feet and hooves can promise. As the piglets continued their attempts to congregate, even on the move, children were sprinting and falling all about the arena. Volunteers, myself included, did their best to corral the piglets back toward the center of the arena to help the kids out, but they don’t call it a scramble for just any reason.

I can’t be sure who I helped bag their pig, but between both scrambles, I managed myself to get two into their burlap sacks.

Afterward, at the end of the arena near the announcer’s booth, I spoke to Zach Hughes, 6, who was willing to tell anyone who would listen that he didn’t grab his pig by two feet, he grabbed it by one.

“I’m stronger than him,” Hughes said. “I can lift up my mom and dad’s bed. It’s a big one.”

Asked “How are you going to get this back to your car, your house,” the 6-year-old instead detailed his well-thought-out plan for what would happen when his family and its newest member get home.

“In my playground, I’m going to make a pen out of wood, and it’ll be a zapping one,” he said.

“To zap the pig?” I asked, bracing for gory details.

“No! So if anyone tries to get it,” he said, a little exasperated either by his pig struggles or my question. “BZZT! It’ll zap ’em.”

Winners were also allowed to sell their piglet back to the fair for $50, and those who weren’t lucky enough to snag a sausage were given $1 gold coins for their efforts, said Page. After the event was finished, only three families of the 10 opted to leave their catch and go home with $50 in their back pockets.

Seven is a good number, Page said.

“That’s seven kids who are going to take those pigs home and raise them and have them for pork. . . . Some of the kids don’t get that, but these kids that are determined to catch a pig, they’re going to go home and raise that pig and eat that pig. . . . It’s absolutely wonderful to watch these kids run their hearts out knowing they’re going to learn so much.”

‘SO MANY PEOPLE ARE JUST AMAZED BY THE FACTS.’

As I left my whirlwind pig scramble experience, off to the side knitting was Jody Robertson of Livermore Falls, who said she came with her father, John Mason, to watch as many of the agricultural events as they could.

Mason used to pull draft horses at all the fairs, Robertson said. She said her grandfather and uncles pulled draft horses and oxen. “And now my nephews are starting to pull oxen. It’s a family tradition.”

My final interaction that day at the Litchfield Fair was at the stables, where a handful of farmers were watering and feeding their cows and cleaning out stalls. Auburn-based Maple Row Farms owner Jeanie Lewis said she and her two daughters, as well as many friends and fellow farmers, enjoyed showing their livestock and educating families in Litchfield, as they do at several fairs and events every year.

“It’s a tight-knit community,” Lewis said, adding that watching people learn about animals is sometimes as fascinating as the learning itself. “Kids are always amazed by the facts. Like one of them couldn’t believe how much a cow drinks a day,” she said. (A milking cow will drink up to 50 gallons of water a day.)

Cody Hazelton of Livermore, not a farmer but a jack-of-all-trades and go-to for repairs and farm work, especially for the Lewis family, agreed that beyond the farm life and farm friends, it’s the teaching and learning that draws him to the fairs.

“So many people are just amazed by the facts. A lot of people just are amazed at the size of your animals,” said Hazelton. “I’m just like, ‘Yeah, and these cows are small compared to what they could be. They’re only a year old.’”

“It really is a lot of the kids’ first experiences,” Lewis said. “Sometimes they’re completely petrified, but then others are just like, ‘Oh my gosh.’”

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