We’d had the farm stand for several years, but had been to the county fair even longer — especially the agricultural hall where they judged all manner of vegetables. Bright colored ribbons lay on plates of beans, tomatoes, squash, you name it. But not ours. And why not? Who knows.  One year we decided to change that, and it was a hoot.

 It took hours of work to get everything ready, then off we went on the appointed evening to put our prouduce (I made up that word) in the judges’ hands — along with those of everyone else in the county.  Days later we headed to the fair, went to the Ag Hall, looked through the entries, and found nothing of ours. Nothing, I tell you!  It began to rain in our brains, until we realized we were in the youth section. Dumb….

 So off we went to the adult side, and there we were; ribbon after ribbon, upon ribbon. More than anyone else there I believe. Blues, and reds, some yellows. Ribbons to frame, to mail to friends, to give to the poor.

 So we had this big empty wall in the farm stand, and what do you suppose we could hang there? Yessirree: ribbon, after ribbon, after ribbon.  I think we both gained an inch of tall that day.