No eggs were seen at the Egg festival, because Pittsfield is no longer a major (or even minor) egg producing town. But any excuse for a festival during Maine's short but glorious summer, and so the name endures.
Karen and James, who live in Pittsfield
and mom and Dad.
Mom woke up this morning, after being in the hospital for a week and the house for the following week, and declared, "I am not an invalid!" So we drove over to Pittsfield.
In the morning there was a parade:
Antique fire engines are a big part of the parade.
As are antique cars
And after the parade, this year the festival featured lobster dinners for $11. We carried them home and ate them in Karen's back yard.
My father demonstrates the technique for breaking down a lobster.
It was delicious!