Fall Festival Fun

A trend that has always puzzled me somewhat is the concept of "distressed" jeans. For the uninitiated, distressed jeans are jeans that are damaged with rips, fading, or acid washing - and then sold just like that in reputable stores at a hefty markup. They are considered very fashionable at the moment, and it is more than socially acceptable to wear them in public.

But even when the stains on your jeans aren't from acid or dye, but rather a drip- ping chocolate ice-cream cone, people still notice, point, and comment - just not in quite the same way.

I found myself in this situation during the annual Fall Festival as I licked away at my "lunch" - the only meal I had time for during the 15 minutes of free time between my bluegrass band's first appearance on the stage and the time I needed to start getting changed for the vintage fashion show.

Wandering around and trying to avoid the steady stream of cocoa-colored dribbles, I took in the sights, sounds and smells around me. Some people sat on the green benches in front of the trailer-bed stage and stayed cool in the shade of tall, majestic pines as they watched local youth sing and play guitar. Others examined the row of antique cars parked out front, wandered around chatting with their friends, watched demonstrations of blacksmithing and candlemaking, munched on nachos or buffalo burgers, perused the vintage and handcrafted goods available for sale, and juggled dripping waffle cones of their own.

I wandered over to the back end of the Bruce house. From there, I couldn't hear the music from the main stage. This area was refresh- ingly shady, and the only sound I could hear above the whisper of a weak breeze and the hum of chattering voices was Sam McGowen playing a jig on his fiddle as he perched on a stool by the entrance to the Wilson- Phillips House.

By this time it was time to scoot inside the Bruce House's kitchen and get my style show duds on. After being handed a crate filled with the outfit I would get to wear, I set up shop in the pantry and started changing into my outfit: an authentic and well-preserved turn-of- the-century wedding dress. This outfit involved sev- eral layers of undergarments. Thankfully, I'm narrow enough in the appropriate places that I didn't need a corset, sparing me the trouble of donning about half the crate's contents. I still needed "open drawers" (think very baggy boxer shorts with a tie closure and lace trim), a corselet (a support-giving device that would have served as a protective layer between the wire corset and the skin, although I wore a camisole under it), and a chemise (a very long full-body slip that went over the above two articles) underneath the actual dress. (The "dress" was actually two separate pieces - an ethereal lacy skirt and a poofy top with a tall collar.)

It looked awesome. The skirt floated beautifully, and the lacework on the top por- tion was incredibly intricate. In addition, there were two very handy six-inch slits in the sides of the chemise that allowed me to adjust the lower layers with ease.

Seriously, folks, there are some things you just can't get in Walla Walla. The op- portunity to wear a piece of history is one of them. The Fall Festival is another.