In the late 19th and 20th centuries, there was a tradition in the USA called "The Old Town." Every few years, small towns would invite their former residents who had moved away for various reasons, and a local festival or celebration would be held in their honor. This tradition originated here in New England and spread across America from there. But as often happens, it began to fade here as well. The Old Town festivals simply quietly ceased to exist or transformed into others. That is exactly what happened in little Yarmouth. In 1965, instead of the usual The Old Town, a festival was held for the first time, dubbed the Clam Fest in honor of the proximity to the ocean.
Since then, tens of thousands of people from all over the country (primarily, of course, from New England) have visited the town annually. This year, we hosted about 120,000 guests.
When I tried to find out the reasons that drive people to do this, I couldn't find any reason more compelling than "to have fun." A newcomer wouldn't understand this. It would seem: how much more fun can you have? Independence Day just passed. Fireworks have gone off all over the country, small towns have rehashed all the local news dozens of times, and stomachs ache from barbecue. And then, on the edge of the country, another festival suddenly springs up, dedicated to some kind of Clam...
Strange, inexplicable.
But then the festival begins.
On Friday evening, the main street of Yarmouth fills with people for the first time - here, finally, are all those who arrived earlier and were wandering around the outskirts with cameras. And stepping from some quiet Bridge Street into this flow, you suddenly begin to understand: everything is truly worth it.
Part 1. Fuss about chairs
Like mushroom families, several at a time, chairs begin to sprout in Yarmouth starting in June. They line up along the main street, where the parade will pass - and open the three-day weekend.
Since there is only one main street and many people want to watch the parade, the chairs appear well in advance. This year, the first one was spotted at the end of May, setting a record.
They are treated differently. Owners of cafes and shops on Main Street, in front of whose doors their own legitimate batch grows sooner or later, consider the tradition inconvenient. In principle, it is more than understandable. Often, wide access to the entrance is blocked, and movement is generally hindered.
But on the whole, they are considered a symbol of the holiday, just like a Christmas tree, and many even look forward to them. And why wouldn't they be treated well, since this is arguably the main annual event in Yarmouth? Strictly speaking, one could take an unattended item and do whatever one wants with it. Needless to say, that doesn't happen.
Part 2. Vanity of vanities.
The parade - and the entire festival - carries some echoes of ancient holidays and especially carnival culture. This is a time-space where conventions are removed, where people forget a little about who they are in ordinary life. Work and problems remain in the weekdays, and here nothing is planned. And can you imagine an American who doesn't make plans? Exactly. That's why the festival is a special territory.
At the same time, the parade is a demonstration. Representatives of all Yarmouth organizations and communities walk along Main Street, and although the officially stated theme of the parade is "Favorite Children's Book," the viewers are essentially interested in the participants of the procession themselves. In small towns, everyone knows each other. And it doesn't really matter how good the fairy or tin soldier costume is; those who recognize you in the crowd will give you joyful ovations. Probably due to special respect, the applause does not die down for a long time after the fire trucks pass; veterans in uniform and medals sit in them, and it looks almost like an episode of a Victory Parade. Some - mainly commercial sponsor firms - prepare entire performances, acrobatic or musical, and walk along the entire main street with them.
One of the marchers, dressed as a medieval knight, waves at me. We know each other; on Monday, I will meet him as usual at the local supermarket at the checkout. But for now, he is a noble hidalgo, and it is to him that I wave back.
Finally, the car closing the parade passes by. Immediately behind it, the two sides of the street begin to close, people greet those they didn't have time to welcome earlier, hug, and look for friends and relatives in the crowd. What Clam Fest and any big American holiday is essentially about begins - time for socializing with family.
Part 3. All sorts of fuss
It's funny, but the word "clam" also translates as "miser, skinflint." It's funny because that is exactly what you cannot say about the festival: the basis and essence of Clam Fest is charity. All the money that guests leave at the fair stalls, rides, and contests will go to support Yarmouth's non-profit organizations - and ensure their existence.
And the stalls sell everything - from old and handmade things to cosmetics and clothing. A huge pile of books keeps visitors for a long time at the very beginning of Main Street. It's easy to get stuck. All books cost no more than a dollar, and these are books: classical literature, modern, children's, biographical, gardening, history, religion, biology. By Sunday, by the end of the festival, God willing, a third of what was there will remain under the canopy.
The neighboring stall is organized by the local Catholic church. Such places on non-holiday days are called "flea markets," and one must admit, there is a reason for it. Old figurines and caskets, vases, unusual table lamps, embroidered pillows, dishes, badges - here are those things that individually do not carry much use, but gathered together suddenly arouse incredible interest. You can wander endlessly under this canopy and eventually choose a completely useless thing, but one that suddenly captivated you with something inexplicable.
Only the smell of food can lead you away from the canopies.
It is not hard to guess that many stalls will offer you a clam. But French fries, lobster, and hot dogs compete with it in popularity. Everything is prepared right in front of you. There is a charm and drawbacks to this, for example, the fact that the deep fryers are almost in the open air, meaning dust, etc. But people here don't think about that; the fries sell out instantly, and absolutely everyone dreamily adds to their impressions of the festival: "And of course, the food is really good."
Another little island of the festival is live music. Its American charm. Especially when it gets dark and those sitting at tables under the canopy start singing along with the musicians.
The central venue becomes the former baseball field, given over to rides. It looks as if the carousels and Ferris wheels from all the parks of my native Samara were brought to one place and mixed with food stalls. Here you can shoot in a shooting gallery, play mini-golf, go into a haunted house, and ride a wheel with cabins rotating in all directions. You can win a prize in contests, and in the cabins - at best, a portion of adrenaline.
By nine o'clock, an almost imperceptible outflow of the audience into the darkness begins, away from the lights of the amusement park. Announcements stated that the fireworks are best seen from the end of the library building, but people also take places on sidewalks and unlit areas. We watch the fireworks for a quarter of an hour. Finally, nothing happens, no drought, no rain, and I join the American celebration. The spectacle is mesmerizing and accompanied by almost complete silence. Only at the end - long polite applause, as if the fireworks organizers there, in the center of the dark Royal River Park, could hear them.
In addition to what is described above, the festival includes a lot of things. Canoe races, children's games, meetings with famous people - such as local journalist and alleged humorist Maine's storyteller John McDonald, performances by musical groups, and charity lunches and breakfasts. But during these events, I was at work, and as a journalist, I ask for your apologies.
I wanted to read about this in the next issue of the local newspaper, but it only said that the festival went without incident, and immediately upon completion, everything very quickly returned to normal. This is noted by a local policeman, and it is indeed true. On Monday morning, perfectly clean streets and a baseball field will not remind you of the festival in any way. Worthy of respect, but also a little sad.
You can't imagine how empty the city has become now.
