Barter Fair Bounty

By Mary Preus Hamilton
Published on May 1, 1980
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LEFT: Campers and tents at the barter fair campground. RIGHT: An old codger proposes a trade.
LEFT: Campers and tents at the barter fair campground. RIGHT: An old codger proposes a trade.
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TOP LEFT: An impromptu musical performance on flute and drums. TOP RIGHT: A vendor displays gems and polished rock on velvet. BOTTOM: A vendor with apples and chickens to swap.
TOP LEFT: An impromptu musical performance on flute and drums. TOP RIGHT: A vendor displays gems and polished rock on velvet. BOTTOM: A vendor with apples and chickens to swap.
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TOP: Barter fair attendees milling amongst the vendor tables. BOTTOM LEFT: A live llama. BOTTOM RIGHT: A bright quilt.
TOP: Barter fair attendees milling amongst the vendor tables. BOTTOM LEFT: A live llama. BOTTOM RIGHT: A bright quilt.

“The Third Annual Northeast Washington Barter Fair,” the leaflet noted, “will provide a way for us to sell or trade the products we’ve grown or made . . . without having to resort to the conventional market system, in which producers are too often cheated.”

This unusual event (the news sheet went on to say) first took place back in 1974, when someone offered an unused field as a “fairground” and less than 100 people showed up to swap. The next year, the barter festival drew 300 traders, and — by the time my husband George and I read the handout describing the 1976 affair — at least 500 people were expected to attend!

It sounded great to us, so though we were still “city people,” we blended gallons of old-fashioned potpourri, packed up some fancy sachets and spice necklaces I’d made, and set off for our first two-day swapping meet . . . which took place just outside Tonasket in northeastern Washington. (The fair’s location is changed from one year to the next, to insure that the same people don’t always have to drive a long distance to the event.)

An Alternative to Agribiz

Even without the prominently displayed “Barter Fair” sign, no one could have failed to recognize the festival site. Bouncing down the dirt road in front of us was a pickup truck piled high with potatoes, tomatoes, and melons. Ahead of that vehicle was a VW bug bulging at the seams with pumpkins and squash. And in the distance — stretched across a privately owned, flat, 10-acre field — was a kaleidoscope of cars, trucks, tents, tipis, and (most of all) people . . . not the 500 that had been anticipated, but at least 2,000!

There were, we soon learned, no entrance formalities or fees. The field was partitioned with signs and colored flags to indicate parking areas for both daytime and overnight visitors . . . and the only reference to money was a donation box which was labeled, “If this fair has helped you, please help us cover costs . . . thank you.”

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