Buffered Carrots and All's Fair in Love and Losing

I should have taken a picture of my lovely carrots, but I was too busy trying to meet the deadline to get all my produce down to the Bonner County Fair. Entries closed at noon, and I'd spent twenty minutes with a dish towel wiping away the dirt and putting a smooth waxy-type polish on my entry of five carrots.

The instructions called for five carrots, not washed but cleaned. So, I did my best. When I put my glasses on, I realized there was more to do, so I rubbed even harder to get rid of those pockets of dirt that love to cling to carrots.

The results netted a rather attractive set of fat, straight and spit-shined carrots to add to my oregano, onions, tomatoes, jelly, hay flake, cookies, marigolds, Annie peace rose, cantaloupe, and watermelon.

No, I didn't spit on my carrots but I sure rubbed them almost to death to get 'em clean. I also carefully clipped their tops to add a unifying factor to my carrot presentation.

Then, I got accused of purchasing my produce for the fair at Yoke's. That accusation came after I had finished judging----not creative writing, as planned but hobbies. One never knows when one doesn't return the judging request what they'll do to get you back.

This year I'm sure I never responded to the call for me to judge creative writing. It wasn't by design. It was just a busy summer, and I'm sure that letter sent to me back in the spring went unanswered. But that doesn't matter when you need fair judges.

I got my official judges' packet a few weeks ago. It went in the pile after I opened it and read that I was, indeed, signed on to judge creative writing. I never looked at it again until the night before last cuz I needed to know what time to show up at the fair.

That's when I saw the page-long set of rules for judges----dress clean and neatly, don't tell horror stories from one fair to people at another fair in the next county, don't express your personal opinion on anything---not even that you sure do need to go to the bathroom.

Be patient with unexpected turns of events. Don't be a clock watcher. Clock watcher? How can you be a clock watcher in the main exhibit building at the Bonner County Fairgrounds. They don't have clocks.

By the time I got to the end of all the judges' rules, I wondered how long the list was for the exhibitors. I never could find the rule in the fairbook where it said to bring TWO jars of jelly and not just one.

And, Bill thought the ladies were being facetious when he took my jar of apple jelly to them and they said, "Next time bring one for you and one for us." Translated, that meant to bring two jars of jelly.

I didn't get the message on that rule until last night when the ladies told me they tasted my jelly and put it on display, but "next year bring two jars."

Anyway, back to the judging. I showed up yesterday clean and neat, so clean and neat with hair combed that Gail Curless, who serves on the fairboard and who had to judge 1,400 giant zucchinis, said, "Gee, you look nice."

To which I said I thought I was supposed to look nice. Gail, dressed in shorts and blouse, said she hadn't heard about "the rules," and as long as she was gonna have to be there, she was gonna be comfortable.

All the sudden those dress shoes were feeling even more uncomfortable. I changed to my tennis shoes and then went to the office to see if I could get out of the judges' orientation.

Monica, also a fairboard member, told me I could and that since I was judging creative writing I could come back any ol' time during the afternoon, so I went home and changed into comfortable clothes---still clean and neat though.

When I came back, I was told the creative writing judge had already started. Well, since I thought I was the creative writing judge, I was a bit puzzled. Rhonda said she thought there would be more entries so she got two judges. I said the other guy, Harvey, could do it by himself since there were just a few.

So, Rhonda said, "Why don't you judge hobbies?" I could have told Rhonda a lot of details about why I shouldn't judge hobbies---like all the white ribbons I got in 4-H for anything that had anything to do with manual dexterity---but Rhonda wasn't buying. She needed a hobby judge.

So, off I went to the hobby place, where they even had hobby horses to judge. They had ornaments, they had needlework and leather crafts and carpentry stuff and even some neat metal work. I judged soap and cards and dolls and wood burning and train displays and wooden chests. Fortunate for this judge, most of the stuff was in a category of its own.

A couple of times, however, there were two items in a class so I had to make decisions. And, that's when I faltered against "the rules." I did my thinking out loud, and that was bad. I didn't know how bad until I opened the exhibitor's tag for the second place item---twice---and there was the superintendent's name. And, across the table the superintendent was giving me a hate stare that only my mother could rival.

I have complained about being put in this situation at previous county fairs. The worse one up until yesterday occurred when Rhonda asked me at the last minute a few years ago to judge the wine. Now, that's a good job.

Well, at least it is until you sip on some wine, several sips into judging, and a wine entry doesn't quite measure up to standards, and by that time you've gotten loose in the lips and your lips, along with the other judges' lips utter merciless comments about said wine--------------which, you guessed it, belongs to the superintendent.

Not a pretty picture. And, yesterday it happened again. I keep saying that people who have entries to be judged should excuse themselves during judging, but nobody ever listens to me.

Well, yesterday, I do think the superintendent may have found it in her heart to forgive me, but I bribed her anyway. Now, that's a switch, isn't it? The judge bribes the contestant---not to inflict bodily harm on her for uttering questionable comments in the heat of judging.

I gave the superintendent one of my books where she can learn firsthand that I know very well how to lose and lose a lot. Lord knows, my whole 4-H experience way back when taught me that.
So, you'd think that I, at 62 years old, should have learned how to lose gracefully. No deal. I went last night to see how I had done with my produce and all that other stuff I DID NOT BUY AT YOKE'S and, by golly, I had one stinkin' ribbon.

Heck, I didn't even get a ribbon on my cookies, and it didn't look like the judge even took a bite out of them. Could be I didn't follow the rules and added white chocolate and butterscotch chips to my chocolate chips. Gotta follow those rules!

It was sitting under those buffered carrots, and Lord knows, I'll bet someone will find a reason to take that one measley prize away from me, especially after that Don Chapman told everyone on Facebook that I bought my produce at Yoke's.

Thanks, Don.

And, that's why the fair for Love just hasn't gone according to plan. To think that two years ago, I was griping cuz they kicked me out of the Main Exhibit Building because I had my dog on a leash---the same dog I'd purchased at the Bonner County Fair a couple of years before.

When it comes to "All's Fair in Love and . . . " some things just don't add up, especially for me! :)

Late, breaking news of ribbons: Well, it seems not all ribbons had been placed on items when I checked last night. Turns out better than expected---blues on carrots, marigolds and cantaloupe. Reds on beans and watermelon. White on oregano. A fair day's work, for sure! Terry Burnham, our former neighbor had one honking watermelon down there; congrats to Terry!