COVID County Fair

The Wayne County Fair sure looked different this year, but it occurred. When we look back on the summer of 2020, could that be all that matters?

 

The Wayne County 4-H and Purdue Extension team can’t be commended adequately for the job they did organizing the 2020 event. Woodworkers, photographers, electricians, seamstresses, and beyond still wowed the judges and those who raised livestock were still able to present their market and breeding animals.

 

It was different. 

It was lacking an urban crowd. 

It was managed unbelievably well. 

 

“Who was there?” Mom asked me on the phone one night after we’d returned from the beef show.

 

“Everyone you’d expect to be at the heifer show,” I said, then named the 3rd generation families that likely haven’t missed a beef show in 40 years. When your grandkid is in the ring, you show up, come COVID-19 or high water. 

 

There was no Sugar Grove Community Church lemonade shake-up stand, no queen contest, and no antique tractor display, but as a mother of two under four, it still got the job done. 

 

From the sidelines, too young to exhibit anything but stains down the front of their shirts, our children still had a ball. 

 

First, at the sno-cone stand where Caroline placed an order without parental supervision, leaving me no option but to run to the car for a wallet before it melted. 

 

Then with the rocks in Cyrus’ mouth because his hands were full, and his shorts didn’t have pockets. How else was he supposed to haul them?!

 

Then with the Play-Doh back in the camper area where friends had cattle tied. 

 

Caroline asked me, “What kind of Play-Doh is this?” holding up a tiny red stick.

“It’s not. It’s a day-old old French fry covered in ketchup. Put it back where it was. Someone may want it for supper”

 

That’s the county fair spirit!

 

Cody judged the beef show at another county hours away on that day. Every time the kids begged for cotton candy, I told them we’d get some when Daddy arrived (believing he never would). Low and behold, the Angus heifers walked into the ring and he arrived just in time. The man has a 6^th sense for Angus cattle on display. 

 

All Angus classes and one division later, our kids appeared to be sweating cotton candy. 

 

Six minutes after that, the sugar kicked in and Cyrus began ripping the CAUTION tape (used for social distancing) off the bleachers. He’s never been a rule follower. That’s when I knew it was time to head home to Economy. 

 

By the time we got home, they were so deeply asleep that I had to wipe little rivers of drool and cotton candy off their faces. I washed their feet with a warm washcloth, in awe of how much they’ve grown. I put them in footed jammies so sand wouldn’t sleep in their sheets. I swiped Cyrus’ mouth for more rocks and he didn’t even try to bite me. That’s a big deal. 

As a parent, getting those two in bed early, completely exhausted was quite a feat. In fact, because of the great 2020 Wayne County 4-H Fair, later that evening…

 

I made no supper. 

Watered flowers. 

Tended garden. 

Meal prepped for the next two nights. 

Did two loads of laundry. 

Went to the bathroom and no one asked why.

 

Cody did all chores. 

Mowed pastures. 

Checked cattle at three different farms. 

He actually enjoyed a Diet Coke with no one hanging on his leg begging for a sip (chug). 

 

It was the most relaxing evening, ever!

 

So thank you, all who organized and hosted the Wayne County 4-H Fair. We don’t have exhibit-age kids but we do have two who enjoyed the event tremendously. 

 

And think of all the money I saved on Kemos. 

Camel Ride at the County Fair

It's been a while since I've sat down to write. But I'm back in the saddle, now...

I took our two small children to the Wayne County Fair last week. The county fair always feels like going home. Except we don’t keep our fat rabbits in cages; ours apparently like to set up camp in the garden. 

When I was in 4-H, a week at the fair was spent exhibiting our livestock and drinking approximately ten Mt. Dews a day from a cooler which we packed from home. We only knew there was a carnival side to the event because we could see the bright lights as we left every night; I always thought the place was on fire. But nope, we’d return at 5:30 the next morning to find everything intact. Very confusing for a 10-year-old. We always stayed in the cattle barn and tended to our stock. 

With this in mind, it becomes fuzzy about how I got to this stage of parenting. 

We arrived at the fair Monday evening to watch the hog show and the first thing I fed my children was chocolate ice cream from the Dairy Bar. That was never my intention as I walked into the situation, but I saw someone I knew, we began visiting, and the next thing you know I’m at the window and Caroline requests a chocolate cone. At this point, I’ve lost all sense of my surroundings and I hand over a sweaty dollar bill. 

Seven minutes later, Caroline is handing me a soggy cone, Cyrus is crying because he is eating a veggie straw, realizing he is the obvious second child and I’m trying to get chocolate ice cream that I didn’t even consume out of my white t-shirt. 

That’s right. 

I wore a white t-shirt to the county fair, which is a sure sign that I’ve lost all ability to think critically in the last three years. Everyone knows that the only justifiable reason to wear white to the county fair is if you have a Holstein heifer at the end of a halter. 

Moments later, Caroline spotted the camel in a small pen over near the antique tractors. We were there to watch the hogs; camels weren’t even on my radar. But there we went, over to the camel pen. Moments later I found myself on the said camel, with Caroline sitting in front of me, waving like she was a queen riding through the desert. I must say, she is a real natural at camel riding. Let us hope this is not indicative of a future with the circus.

I’ve played many roles throughout the years at the county fair, including first-year exhibitor who cried in the show ring, fair queen, post-4-H-age-show-ring-poop-scooper and Wayne County Cattleman’s ribeye booth order taker. I had no idea I’d eventually become a camel riding mother who broke her last five-dollar bill to saddle up on a single hump. 

From somewhere in the distance Tim McGraw’s song, “Something Like That” began playing. This song is about a guy who goes to the county fair, falls in love and eventually gets a barbeque stain on his white t-shirt. Bump…Bump…Bump…Bump. While still riding the camel and wondering if my hips were now disjointed, I thought back to when that song came out on KICKS 96. I was a freshman in high school and didn’t have a care in the world. I sure didn’t know then that I’d hear it again twenty years later ironically at the county fair, wearing a white t-shirt with chocolate ice cream down the front. Motherhood is so humbling. 

We dismounted the camel and Caroline was quite happy, so that made the shaggy, shedding camel hair stuck to the inside of my legs almost worth it. She asked for another ice cream cone, but I told her I wasn’t falling for that trick again. She wasn’t having anymore ice cream until she got something healthy in her belly, like a Sugar Grove Church lemonade shake-up. She obliged. 

By the end of fair week, we’d had our share of ice cream, lemonade shake-ups, walking tacos, tenderloins, ribeyes, french fries, camels, and even Ferris wheels. In (another) moment of weakness I said yes to a single ride on the Ferris wheel, despite being absolutely terrified of heights. Caroline was only tall enough to board the ride because of the extra three inches her giant hair bow added. Safety first!

I think we spent more money on fun displays as a visiting family this year than we ever did growing up as 4-H exhibitors. I look forward to the days when we have livestock at the county fair and I can instruct my children to not leave the show box unless they need to go the restroom, and if they’re hungry or thirsty they can eat what I packed in the cooler. 

Ahhh, the good old days in the 1990’s when the county fair didn’t rob me of all my cash or leave camel hair in my dryer vent. 

 

What I Learned from Polly

In recent conversation, I thought of a name I hadn’t in years. 

“Powell. Are they related to Polly Powell?” I asked my cohort.

“Yes, same family. How in the world do you know Polly Powell?” he questioned, back. “She’s quite a bit older than you.”

I thought back briefly to how I knew that name. 

“When I was young, like, your daughter’s age, she was fair queen and she stopped and talked to me at the fair. And that made my entire year. I hadn’t thought of her in a long time,” I explained to him. 

It turned out to be an association so simple, yet quite significant. 

It was true; I hadn’t thought of her in a long time, but she influenced me greatly. During a demanding week of schedules, obligations, heat and responsibility, Wayne County 4-H Fair Queen Polly Powell didn’t pass up an opportunity to visit with a young, impressionable girl. One she did not even know. She got down on my level and asked me a couple questions. I studied her crown and sash. She had perfect teeth. Some things you just don’t forget. 

A decade after Polly, at the age of 17, I was crowned queen over the fair. It was because of that brief encounter years before that I made a conscious effort to be aware of the younger people around me during that week. Who was watching me? Who could I say hello to? It really was incredible how one (very one-sided) conversation left such an impression. That entire year, I tried to be more like Polly.

And so, a lesson for those in the second half of their 4-H career about to spend a week at the county fair, or the ones who are getting organized to attend a national junior livestock show somewhere across the country: 
You're in a unique position to offer something very positive to those around you. 

There are little eyes upon you, who think you’re the best, the expert, maybe even an idol of theirs. Perhaps the greatest swine showman or steer fitter or wood worker or cake baker they’ve ever seen. They already know your name, probably your club or your state association. There is someone who would love to say hello to you, to learn from you, or someone who may just stop by your stall to watch you work. Let them. 

Meet them. Get to know them. Show them how. Teach them. Show them what kindness is. 

It is in those brief encounters that you may encourage a hobby, dream or livelihood. 
You may build a bit of confidence in someone who is lacking it terribly. 
You may bring a bright spot to a day where there hasn’t been sunshine in weeks. 
I encourage you to look around during the busiest of weeks and find someone who could use a brief “how’s it going?” from you, a possible mentor. 

Last Friday the Wayne County 4-H Fair Queen Contest committee hosted a reception for all sixty former Wayne County 4-H Fair Queens at Centerville High School. The earliest queen in attendance was 1959 – how awesome is that? I attended hoping to visit with gals I hadn’t seen in a long time, but also to officially meet Polly. I wanted to thank her for influencing my actions so many years ago. She wasn’t in attendance. I did take a look at the historic wall hanging they had on display to confirm just how old I was when Polly Powell was queen. It was 1992; I was just shy of 8 years old. 

Twenty-six years later, and I still associate very good things with a gal I’ve never met because she created an opportunity to influence a little girl.

Although I do remember the dress she had on that day in 1992 (ask me what I ate for breakfast - I have no idea) what was special about Polly wasn’t the fashion in which she wore her crown as a queen, but rather the way in which she used it to show kindness.

The Longest Walk

It began in March.
I remember being very young and spending that particular day with my mother - which, of course - I always did. Those days were nothing extraordinary, but special nonetheless. Our time together was short. 
Anyhow, on this particular day, I caught the eye of a man. 

Not any man, but rather the one who owned the place; this place that I call home. 
He watched me briefly, then went on about his business of checking mineral tubs. 

April
Shortly after, that a very similar scenario played out, except the man had his kids with him.  "That's her, 510, she has her back to us," he told the children riding in the back bed of the Kawasaki Mule. 
The kids talked. I couldn't understand them over the rumble of the motor. They only stayed by mother and I for a few minutes. 
When they drove away, the young boy in the back studied me. 
Watched me. 
Looked straight into my eyes. I returned the gesture. 
I knew then: My life was about to change. 

September
Months later I was weaned; taken from my mother. 
Clueless animal rights folks think this is torture. 
Apparently they thoroughly enjoy still living in their parents' basement and playing Tetris on the internet.
That's not the life for me. Or anyone going somewhere in life. 
Mother handled it better than I did; she is maternal enough to know that life - even as a beef heifer - is about roots and wings. 
I went through the tub system and received my vaccinations and was poured so the insects wouldn't eat me alive. 
I was hard to corral. 
I carried on like a bandit. 
I bellowed against the metal of the system and acted like I was flat out being tortured. Dramatic? Maybe. 
But I wanted to prove my independence. 

Didn't work.

This is me an hour later. 

My life moved quickly after that. 

October
I was halter broken - but not after raising hell for a couple weeks. As a young heifer, that was my job. 
I was rinsed - extensively. For as clean as I stayed in that pen under a barn, they were sure concerned with rinsing me. A lot. It wasn't a problem until they interrupted snooze time. 
I was fed - precisely - to ensure nutrition. Never as much as I wanted, but I never mentioned it. Obviously. 

March
And I was talked to. 
Often. 
Sometimes the young boy talked more to me than he did his family. Sometimes he cried around me when none knew where he was. Sometimes he just came in and sat behind me to get away from everyone else. Usually, I was the only one who knew his secrets.
And most of the time, he liked me more than he did his sister. Can't blame him. She can be a tic dramatic. 

It was during this time that I strangely became a safe place - or hideout - for the young boy. He stayed here long after his work is done, Angus Journals in hand. He talked to himself. He circled things. He folded corners of pages. He studied that Journal far more than any text book. In fact, between you and me, sometimes he hid the Journal in his backpack and told his mother he was coming here to do his science reading, only to never crack open the science book. Please don't repeat that; I enjoyed the company. 

May
Just as the young boy is changing - he's getting taller and thinner - I am changing, too. Hours behind those Angus Journals (hopefully) paid off as the boy made the decision to breed me to BAR Ext, a bull certain to not kill me. Of course, according to his EPDs. There was a lot of discussion between the boy and his Dad about that decision. In the end, his Dad let it be the choice of the boy who had done his homework. You know, it's interesting how some folks think that after my showing days are over, my purpose is over, too. In reality - with this one decision, it's just beginning. 

July
It's funny how excited I get when I hear the diesel engine growl and the aluminum trailer hit the holes in the lane as it pulls into the farm. My initial thought: Someone is taking a ride, and I hope it's me. This time, it was. The boy loaded me up and took me all the way to Tulsa, Oklahoma for the National Junior Angus Show. I've never seen so many kids all jacked up on powered donuts and fun dip in my life. Water balloon fights, cooking contests, public speaking showdowns and matching t-shirts. About half way through the week I wasn't sure if I was at a cattle show for some sort of halfway house for wild adolescents addicted to Final Bloom. It was a good week, all the way around. Second in class. Can you believe it? I'm tired and ready for home. 

August
Well, today was interesting. I saw those kids fling showsticks at one another like they were participants of season 25 of Survivor. I mean....both great shots, both had the passion in their shouts and energy in their arms, but there was about three minutes when I didn't know if either would survive. The boy locked his sister in the stock trailer for calling him a sissie. I guess that'll teach her. Their mother came and demanded he let her out before she died in there. He walked back to the trailer with great hesitation. 

They both went on to survive the ordeal. And traveled to the county fair the next week.
What a week for all of us. The kids were extremely excited, the parents were somewhat excited, I was was most excited when it was over. It was a hot week for a gal used to a fan on her back. 
There were so many spectators taking it all in, commenting on each of us as we walked around. Some even made spectacles of themselves and commented on the kids. Don't get me started.  Anyhow, I did well. Like - purple banner over my stall card - well. Can you believe it?

After that it got cooler outside of the barn and the days got shorter. We took fewer walks with a show stick but increased our walks to and from the wash racks, for whatever reason. My days became mundane during that period. I always looked forward to that next trailer ride. 

November 
I had an interesting experience with the young boy. I rode in the stock trailer for several hours before unloading some place quite bigger than the county fair. Much of the week was similar, though. Eating, being rinsed, the boy watching me, being tied outside at night, his sister running around socializing. Two major differences I noticed: There were hundreds of head just like me. Blowers were constantly running, funs were buzzing around the clock, the wash racks were always full - can you believe that? I wasn't just the lone animal in the barn anymore. And, can you believe this, when the boy showed me I walked on green wood shavings. Green! I felt fancy. 

Except, when we got home, 

I realized how much my life 

was about to change. 

Now, it's my turn. 
I speak - or, something - with confidence when I say these kids have done everything they could to make me successful. The miles hauled across the U.S., the dedication and time, the investment of money, feed and space, the knock-down-drag-outs in the barnyard...all of that was for me. I didn't win a national show, but I don't think that was the goal at hand. The goal at hand is still in the making. 

Now it's my turn. 
As the boy leads me down the gravel path to the pasture, his sister tails me - though she does not touch me once. She need not. I walk willingly, as taught, as trained, as I know best. Where he leads me I will go; I am amongst friends. 

This, the longest walk, leads from the barn to the pasture, where I'll truly live out my purpose: producing a calf every year for the boy. Building his herd. Fueling his passion. Providing the next generation of breeding stock for the producer. Up until now, I've taught the boy animal husbandry, a bit about nutrition, the value of getting the work done before the day gets unbearably hot and why it's important to not kill your sister: She's a good co-worker. Now, after the longest walk, I'll teach him about raising safe, affordable beef in the U.S. 

Now it's my turn. 
And my job as a show heifer was never to get the young boy to the backdrop; this - all of this - was never about the backdrop. This was about becoming a cow that produced a live calf. This was about producing beef cattle that perform and reproduce - without a jack and chains.  This was never about tail adhesive, paint or crippled competitors. This is about beef. My life is about the offspring yet to come, of which the young - turned adult - boy will one day say to his daughter as he points, 

"Her grand dam was 

the one that started it all."

For a mother's perspective, 

check out It's A Wonderful Life.  

Coach Character

While we're on the subject of the county fair...

I think we need to discuss something. 
Just you and I. 
(In between your fifth load of laundry and calling the extension office to confirm:  does the actual show start at 2:00 or does showmanship start at 2:00? Anxious grandparents must know.)

Anyway, back to you and I. 
And our chat. 
Go refill your coffee. 
I'll wait. 

I witnessed something this week. 

Within an hour of arriving to the county fair I saw an adult completely humiliate a child showing livestock. 

Their tactic:
Stand ringside, verbally (and loudly) critique the showmanship of the child and wrap up the disgusting  charade  by visually displaying disappointment in the kid. 

I wanted to throw up. But I had just eaten a $6.50 Kemo sub and I couldn't waste that kind of money. Then I saw something I'd never seen before: a broken heart with a buzz cut, pig whip in his hand and tears on his cheeks. Unbearable. 

Let's chat. 

Showing livestock is about building character. 

It's about learning responsibility and working hard towards a goal and also understanding what makes sheep bloat. 
Which is, apparently, everything. 
Showing livestock is not about the adults' financial investment, the adults' prideful reputation or the adults living vicariously through someone a quarter of their size. Showing livestock is not about last names. 

Showing livestock is about building character. 

This isn't the National Western Stock Show, it's the county fair. 
And even if it was Denver, scolding - rather than coaching -  your child in front of a national crowd isn't going to help in any way. This is where your child will meet the friend that they'll go on Spring Break 2023 with. You'll approve the trip because they're "in 4-H together". This is local. This is your back forty.  These people - the ones gauging how you react to winning or rejection - are their village. 
**By the way: One of the young men your daughter is showing against will probably take her to prom in five years. Brace yourself. 



Showing livestock is about building character. 

Your kid isn't going to make a living precisely parading livestock, keeping the flawless stock between himself and the judge. 
Your kid may go on to make a living breeding and selling sought genetics, building relationships far and wide, developing a brand and cultivating a passion which generations to come will benefit from. But perfect showmanship tactics? They come and go. The county fair is the place to cultivate those interests and polish those talents. No one becomes famous here. Calm down.

Showing livestock is about building character. 

It's also about displaying character. 

They're watching.

And when you scold them in public? You're breaking their confidence. 

And when you throw a fit? You're giving them permission to do the same. 

And when you return to the stalls or the show box and bad mouth the judge? You're teaching them how to discount anyone who ever offers them constructive criticism.

In a world where kids get trophies 

for showing up to three practices, 

constructive criticism is crucial!

Little Eyes Upon You

There are little eyes upon you

and they're watching night and day.
There are little ears that quickly

take in every word you say.

There are little hands all eager

to do anything you do;

And a little girl who's dreaming

of the day she'll be like you.

You're the little angel's idol,

you're the wisest of the wise.

In her little mind about you

no suspicions ever rise.

She believes in you devoutly,

holds all you say and do;

She will say and do, in your way

when she's grown up just like you.

There's a wide-eyed little girl

who believes you're always right;

and her eyes are always opened,

and she watches day and night.

You are setting an example

every day in all you do;

For the little girl who's waiting

to grow up to be like you.

Kimberly Sedlacek

Showing livestock is about building character. 

Trust me. No one comes to the county fair and expects to lose. No one puts their family through the familiar hell that is the week before the county fair for the heck of it. You've worked hard to coordinate. The kids are tired. The stock is ready. You're fixin' to hide in a closet and shut off your phone. I get it. But everyone - everyone - comes to compete and do their best. Their very best. Your kid included. 

Showing livestock is about building character. 

At the end of the day - or the auction - showing livestock teaches kids how to win graciously and lose gracefully. 
Appreciate the blue ribbons. 
Accept the rejection letter. 
Balance a check book. 
Read a feed sack label. 
Find confidence in a flood of embarrassment. 
Fail the interview but dominate the closure handshake. 
Sincerely thank the judge that buried the best steer that will ever come off of the farm. 
Because - who knows - that very judge may hire her right out of grad school, a decade later. 

I'll let you get back to your coffee. And laundry. 
(If you don't want to have to iron your underwear, now might be a great time to get the clothes out of the dryer, by the way.)

Remember: This week is similar to vacation for your kids: 

A week of sunshine, sno-cones, 

their favorite stock, 

long lost friends and 

way-past-bedtime nights. 

If you must coach from the sidelines, 

coach character. 

Oh, and I absolutely think the same can be said for sports.