The Week Before The County Fair
It's the week before the county fair.
The wonderful, beloved, long-awaited, anticipated,
(right-about-Tuesday-overrated) County fair.
It's the week before the county fair.
Show boxes are being pulled out, scrubbed out and rinsed out. Old ribbons are being straightened out then carried to the house. Do you keep yellow ribbons? That is an internal debate. Show halters are being conditioned. Kids are realizing that their parents may have known what they were talking about when they said, "Clean it out now. In a year you'll be glad you did."
Kids are wishing that they had.
It's the week before the county fair.
Women are feverishly leafing through Southern Cooking and Taste of Home cookbooks, searching for the perfect recipe to beat Always-Wins-Whats-Her-Name. If enough butter is used, this could be the year.
It's the week before the county fair.
A crowd sits in the rural school auditorium, watching shy girls transform into confident young women in chiffon during the beloved queen contest. That same crowd shares coordinated seat shifts when a contestant answers a question without thought. That same crowd beams with pride when a young lady is crowned.
It's the week before the county fair.
Mothers are stuffing their growing children into the white jeans she bought two sizes too big last summer, sure they'd fit perfectly this year. She is also wondering why said children chose the dairy project again. They don't even regularly finish the leftover milk from their cereal.
It's the week before the county fair.
Open class exhibitors are watering, plucking, scouting, pruning, picking, poking and poaching the perfect produce.
It's the week before the county fair.
Muffins are burning, cakes are collapsing, little brothers are taste-testing things they shouldn’t, and young gals are calling their grandmothers to decipher cursive writing on a recipe card, From the Kitchen of: Cindy, 1988.
It's the week before the county fair.
Show numbers, registration papers and health papers are held in higher regard than the third child's birth certificate. Perhaps even the third child, entirely.
It's the week before the county fair.
Grandparents are gathering their one-dollar bills, sure that half of their life savings will be spent on fair food and the livestock auction in the next 10 days. As long as the grandkids are happy...and hydrated.
It's the week before the county fair.
Campers are being pulled out of the barn. Fathers are making to-clean lists, mothers are still wondering why they bought the dirty old thing and kids are trying to convince both that they'd rather sleep in a tent. "Memory Maker" dad called it; I won't type what mom called it. Young people might read this.
It's the week before the county fair.
Mothers say things such as:
“You are never - ever - doing this project again.”
“When I was in 4-H I had my projects done in April.”
“You kids are lucky this only lasts ten years. I would have killed you in the eleventh.”
“Get your hair out of your face and tuck your shirt in.”
It's the week before the county fair.
Survive it, embrace it, enjoy it, and remember:
The next seven days will go so quickly.
But seriously. Start your project earlier next year.