Courtesy: Ginny Neil
“Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.” —William Shakespeare
When the harvest season is almost over, it is time for the show-off season. I am speaking about our local county fair which is the longest running small county fair in Virginia. It’s always held the week before Labor Day, and it is such an important tradition that our School Board cancels school for the duration so kids can show the farm animals they have spent months prepping and primping.
But animals aren’t the only things we like to show-off. There are categories for almost anything you can grow or create. The awards chairperson, Cindy Vrugtman, orders about 1,500 prizes each year. That’s a lot of ribbons for a county of just over 2,000 residents.
I am the reigning Beet Queen, and I take defending my crown seriously. Well, if there was actually a crown, I would defend it. But, I am proud to have found my niche, so on the day before the fair I begin my search. My dog is an excellent digger, and he is happy to help. Perhaps, he is too happy. Thirty minutes later he has enthusiastically uncovered every beet, a half a row of potatoes, and an old bone he buried last year.
I rescue five perfect beets from the carnage. Then it’s off to the kitchen for a bath, a polish and a coat of car wax. I am talking about the beets, here. My bath will come later and will not involve wax of any kind. On the other hand, using car wax on my beets is a surefire formula for success. When I finish, they are as shiny and sexy as Arnold Schwarzenegger in a bikini.
The rest of the vegetables get an equal amount of attention, but no matter how hard I try, the only tomatoes I ever win first place with are the little cherry ones. If a tomato is perfect enough to be competitive, it’s also perfect enough to eat. I would rather slice the five required specimens and slather them with mayo than watch them slump to soup at the fair.
As I wait in the entry line with my box of vegetables balanced on one hip, I chat with friends. The banter is friendly, but we are all secretly sizing up the competition. However, none of us stack up to local legend Virginia Bell who according to our extension agent, Kathy Beverage, enters almost 500 jars of canned produce each year.
The next morning, I stand in line to drop off my floriculture entries. I am ashamed to say that all I have to offer are three single flower specimens propped up in pop bottles. I watch enviously as friends carry in beautiful arrangements made to reflect category names like “Morning Dawn” and “Heat of the Day.” My idea of flower arranging involves picking a handful of flowers and shoving them into a jar.
In the evening after the parade, I hurry to the gymnasium to see if I am still the reigning queen. I am. There was only one other sad plate of oversized beets in the category, but no matter: a crown is a crown. My tomatoes? In a field of hundreds, they’ve been shoved to the very back end of the table by the judges. Oh well, there’s always next year.
The intense competition at our little Highland County fair is an important tradition that I hope never disappears. But there’s always room for a new one. Perhaps one day, there will be a category for hopelessly ugly tomatoes called, “I Made Sandwiches with the Rest,” or a category for floral arrangements called “Shoved in a Jar.” I’m pretty sure I could win one of those.
The story above first appeared in our September / October 2022 issue.
