Deerfield — This place has the familiar charm of most Michigan small towns: old-fashioned brick buildings with neatly painted window signs and blue-and-yellow houses beside clean playgrounds. Yet, I was a little surprised to hear the dulcet tones of Usher, Ludacris, and Lil Jon bumping from the American Legion.
I could already feel myself grinning as I got closer to the building, the music growing louder. Out front, a table of local Girl Scouts were selling cookies. A giant banner above the entrance read: “Budweiser, Bud Light. 24th Annual Deerfield Testicle Festival.” I knew I was in for a great time.
The Deerfield Testicle Festival is a fundraiser for American Legion Post 392 that’s been held every March for over two decades, started by some folks with a great sense of humor.
They buy hundreds of pounds of Rocky Mountain Oysters—deep-fried bull testicles—every year, a few volunteers cook them up a day or two before the event, and they serve them on a first-come-first-serve basis.
But I hadn’t realized I would be walking into Deerfield’s party of the year until I opened the door and a bouncer asked for my ID.
Inside, a DJ booth stood at the far end of the room, a man tossing beads into the dancing crowd beside it. Posters advertised raffle prizes—cash, guns, coolers full of drinks—everything a Michigander could want to kick off warmer weather. Volunteers, dressed in red “24th Annual Testicle Festival” T-shirts and hoodies, waved me over to check out the merch. I opted for a few Testicle Festival koozies to hand out to college friends I was meeting with later that night. They were a huge hit.
While the crowd packed the dance floor, I took a lap to get my bearings. Merch to the right, bar to the left, and popcorn near the entrance… but where were the Rocky Mountain Oysters? I stepped outside to investigate, thinking maybe they were being cooked out in the open to lure in the town. (Do bull testicles smell good?) The crowd spilled down the hill and out of the big tent at the bottom. There was absolutely no room for pretension here; everyone was in on the same dirty joke.
I weaved my way through the crowd, still on the hunt for the famous dish. Instead, I found another bar and managed to grab a $3 rum and Coke—a heavy pour (many thanks). At some point, the playlist switched to Lynyrd Skynyrd and Toby Keith.
I did a full lap around the property before finally caving and asking an elderly security guard where I could…
“Find the nuts?” he finished for me, laughing. “They sold out at about 2:30, but people were lining up at 8:30 this morning.”
I checked my watch—3 p.m. Dang.
I had never tried Rocky Mountain Oysters, but I was willing to give it a go.
“How many did they order?” I asked, still incredulous that people willingly got up before 9 a.m. on a Saturday for bull balls.
“Over 500 pounds this year,” he said, a fact I later heard from multiple volunteers and repeat festival-goers. “And they didn’t start serving ’em until noon.”
Slightly disappointed, slightly relieved, I thanked the kind security guard and decided to commit the rest of my time to people-watching. Mustaches, flannels, cigarettes, singing, dancing, and drinks were in no short supply.
I left with a big grin, infused with springtime optimism about what a great time rural Michigan will offer anyone willing to come out and ball.
Anna Bassols is a contributing writer for Michigan Enjoyer.
