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I judge food at the La Salle County 4-H Fair.
Volunteer judges report to the fairgrounds early at 7:30 a.m. on Thursday, the first day of the fair. The organizer brings a tasty egg casserole for breakfast. Plus, judging baked goods requires tasting. I don’t know how I became a judge. Apparently, I said yes to someone years ago and they keep asking. I like doing it. In fact, it’s gotten better.
The first couple of years the cookies, dinner rolls, coffee cakes, jellies and more just appeared. We judged them using standards and checklists, assigned them a blue, red, or white ribbon and that was it.
The U of I Extension improved the process by involving the 4-H kids. Now we sit across from those who prepared the food. We still have checklists, but it is more of a conversation. Lots better. You spend the morning talking to nice kids and tasting homemade food. What’s not to like?
After the judging was over, I strolled through the barns. I was once a 4-H kid who showed Jersey cows at the McLean County fair in the 60s. I met kids from other towns, danced to live bands and blew all my money at the carnival. The fair was the highlight of my summer.
As I entered a barn, I saw four kids sitting quietly in an empty stall at the far end. Looked like they were playing cards. We used to play cards at the fair when things got slow. As I got closer, I saw that rather than holding cards they were looking at their phones. Times change.
My wife’s family had a reunion at the Lions Club in Ottawa the weekend of the fair. My granddaughter June and her parents came early to help set up and decorate. They get more done if June is not around, so on Saturday morning I took June to the fair.
She’s 3 1/2 now and interested in everything. When her parents take her to new places, they call those trips adventures. I told her the county fair is a special adventure full of farm animals.
We got there early. June was good. She didn’t run ahead of me and took my hand when I asked. She’d never been that close to pigs and was fascinated with them. She thought their hair was scratchy and laughed at the sound of their grunts. It was hot and the hogs were stretched out laying in their pens.
“Look Papa,” she said, pointing at the long rows of a sow’s nipples. “So many.”
June notices such things. She was breast fed not so long ago. I told her things about hogs.
“Hogs have lots of babies all at once. Like ten. Sometimes more. They come out in their own little bag, break it, run around their mom’s hind legs, and find a nipple.”
I loved watching animals being born on the farm. I hope June sees that one day.
June liked the goats. They stuck their heads out of the pens to be petted. Some had curved horns. But her favorite was the sheep.
“Why the sheep?” I asked.
“Oh Papa. So soft.”
She touched every animal she saw, even a stern gander goose. I tried to stop her, she ignored me, but the goose behaved.
Exhibitors were leading Hereford steers to the show ring. After they passed, we went towards the beef barn. There was a fresh cow pie in the aisle. I took June’s hand.
“Careful June, that’s cow poop.”
She looked up at me, looked back at the manure, lifted her foot and planted it squarely in the middle of that green glob.
“June! Why’d you do that?”
She looked up at me and smiled. Her face told me the answer. Because it was there.
I led June into the grass and taught her how farm kids scuffle their shoes, bottom and sides, to wipe off manure. Oh, to be three and learn about life all over again.
Dave McClure lives in Ottawa. He is a long-retired director of a local private agency. He is also a blogger. You can read more of Dave at Daveintheshack.blogger.com