The Festival That Left Me Speechless — Literally

There are certain weekends in small towns where it feels like the whole world gathers in one place. For Odessa, that weekend is Deutschesfest. And let me tell you, I came away with a full heart, a full stomach, and absolutely no voice.

The first thing that struck me wasn’t the food (though trust me, we’ll get to that). It was the sheer joy of it all—the laughter spilling across Main Street, the families bundled together on hay bales, the sound of polka drifting out of the biergarten like a cheerful soundtrack you didn’t know you needed. And of course, the races. I had heard people talk about the mattress races before, but nothing prepared me for seeing them in person. Imagine people pushing carts down the street like Olympians while their teammates hop off mid-run to play a round of Pictionary. I was laughing so hard behind the camera, I nearly forgot to snap the photos.

Then there was the food. Oh, the food. I told myself I’d be disciplined this year, but the moment someone offered me strudel and ice cream before noon, I knew my fate was sealed. From meat on a stick to kraut ranza (which, to my surprise, turned out to be like a doughnut with beef inside), I happily sampled my way through the weekend. I even tried Odessa Queen Alyx Scheller’s favorite—smoked mac and cheese with chicken sausage—and I can confirm she has excellent taste.

The best part, though, wasn’t the food or the festivities. It was the people. I ran into longtime subscribers, old friends, and new faces who all stopped to share a smile or a quick story. One evening in the biergarten, Jon and Karen Heimbigner offered to teach me how to polka. I finally gave in, and while I won’t pretend I was graceful, I couldn’t stop laughing and smiling. There’s something about holding hands with strangers-turned-friends, stepping (and tripping) in rhythm to the music, that makes you feel like you’re part of something bigger than yourself.

By Saturday, my voice gave out completely—laryngitis, of all things. Some people thought I had just cheered a little too hard. Others thought I had maybe enjoyed the biergarten a little too much. The truth was less exciting, but I decided to let the rumors fly. If losing my voice makes me look like the life of the party, I’ll take it.

Even voiceless, I wouldn’t have traded the weekend for anything. Deutschesfest is the kind of event that leaves you smiling long after the last bratwurst has been eaten and the polka music has quieted down. It’s a reminder of what makes small towns so special: community, connection, and just a little bit of chaos.

And if next year I can make it through without losing my voice, well, that will just be a bonus.