Pickaway County Fair, Wednesday......redux

For those of you who missed it the first time 'round, I've been posting the account of this year's County Fair, one day at a time..check the blog log for the postings from Monday and Tuesday, get you up to speed on the Fair, and how we got here.

Third place, happy face!

Mid week, Pickaway County Fair! Madeleine's only day of judging, and Hamilton's first. Georgia is officially off the hook, all shows and contests complete. Hamilton and I got up early and charged off home to do home barn chores and do preparations for his "Snack Attack!" judging. The Chrysler Building made it through the night in good form on the table in the air conditioned camper, and the rest of the family is off to the Fair barns to clean, feed, water and walk animals. Wednesday is the rabbit show in the morning, followed by the hog show in the afternoon. Wednesday is also hot. Always. Today was no exception. High eighties by 9:30 in the morning. The rabbit show has two judges, and they complement each other with their specialties. But today, with that mercury on the rise, the rabbit judges judged themselves too hot to tarry, and they split up and started running two classes at a time. More stress for the competitors, perhaps, but less heat stress for the critters! The rabbit exhibitors all dress in black pants and white long sleeved shirts. The long sleeves are necessary to avoid the parallel  scars on the inside forearms that designate a rabbit owner, but not exactly a cool and breezy choice. Plus, rabbit fur coats were once popular for more than their softness, as all those kids holding rabbits will attest. So, they rapidly worked their way through the rabbits, both meat rabbits and breeding rabbits. White kids with white rabbits, white shirts, black pants and bright red faces. Still, these kids and critters were comfortable compared to the hogs and hog exhibitors yet to show.

Hot Hogs

The hog show got underway in 101 degree heat, with about 5 extra degrees tacked on in the barns and arena. Amazingly, there is standing room only, bleachers are packed and the huge fans at either end of the arena are no match for the sun and the body heat. Still, what is a little sweat when you could observe the spectacle of a hog show? Kids in jeans and boots, belt buckles as big as their heads, bright colored button down shirts WITH a collar, hair in neat braids with bows, boys in crew cuts, and all with red faces, arm themselves with a rag in one pocket, a brush in the other and a cane or stick in their hands, and throw themselves at the mercy of fate, releasing a hot pig out of a pen into a deeply mulched arena, and then try to guide it into walking back and forth in front of the judge, wherever the judge may move to in the ring. They walk in a peculiar crouch and constantly watch the judge, tapping their hog on the shoulder to guide it right or left. When the hog poops- and they always doo- the kid whips out the rag in the pocket and wipes the hog's bum, eyes rarely leaving the judge and continue their crouching, tapping walk. If the pig brushes against something, they grab the brush, and smooth out any hairs that might be out of place. Their faces get redder, their laser intensity on the judge never wavers. These are the kids that do well in Showmanship. In reality, when it is 101-105 degrees, hogs don't want to walk back and forth at the whim of the pigtailed ,crouching child. They want to dig (a no-no) or leave and go back to the nice pen with the soft floor, the water misting them and the fan blowing all the hot air around over their misted backs. So, the hogs stop and dig, oblivious to the child furiously tapping them on the shoulder, and glancing back and forth in panicked red faced horror at the judge and then the pig. Or, worse, the pig runs. Running pigs are followed by crouched, running children, and the kids are WAY slower. So, you can see why you'd plop your sweaty fanny in those bleachers and enjoy the show. The judge, on the other hand evaluates each pig for its muscling, soundness and confirmation, distribution and weight, and picks his favorites. They are sent to holding pens, while the other kids and pigs are cornered by men with large plastic squares they use to make walls in front of their legs, and ease the pigs back to the gates towards home. These men and their boards are also put to use when the hogs do the other thing that heat makes them do- get cranky. And cranky pigs can get in pretty aggressive fights. The board guys run over and get a board in between the combatants. If they can't see each other, their ire erases, and off they go, back to walking, digging or running around the ring.

Small Fry Hog Show (kids are small; hogs are not)

     Meanwhile, back at the Drost farm, Hamilton is making sushi. What else would a nine year old want to make for a snack? He's not bad at sushi, and filled his with avocado, crab and cucumber, sticky rice and nori. Then he made up a tray with a vintage Japanese tea cup, an individual tea pot with peppermint tea, chopsticks and a napkin, Sushi on a square appetizer plate and a red placemat. Then he put origami on the tray- a penguin, two cranes and 5 turtles, we're good at turtles- and we're ready to go back to the fair. (Right after mom creates the day's Clean Pen Awards, I am REALLY behind).  We load the snack tray, Chrysler building and Madeleine's scrapbook in the car and drive as close to the Grange building as possible to unload. Madeleine get's judged first for her cake, and gets an "A" for her project! She then gets called for her Scrapbook project, and earns another "A". No surprise, as the scrapbook of the trip to NYC with her grandparents is excellent. Hamilton, meanwhile is antsy. He's intense; he's ready to share his knowledge of snacking with the judge. He checks the time every few minutes, and is off like a rocket when he gets called to his table. He sets up his tray for the judge, and his project book, and his menu and his snack cookbook. Finally it is his turn. He shakes the judges hand, pour her tea, and talks and talks and talks. The table comes to just below his armpits, and his hands are folded in his lap, just his shoulders and head sticking up above the table. Fortunately, the judge is charmed by him, even though his little legs shoot out every so often and kick her under the table. Maybe she has little boys. She writes her comments as he grins at me, and gives him his judging sheet. The kid is so excited he earns an "A" that he makes up an "I got an 'A'" song on the spot, accompanied by a little touchdown dance. We are ready to pack up the cake, and tray and scrapbook and head back to the camper to the tune of "I got an A- A- A I got an AAAAAAA" by Hamilton. Outside the Grange building, we run into the County Extension agent, who gets a chorus of the song, followed by a blow by blow of how it went down. The kid isn't shy.

Ready for the judge.

     After a late lunch, back to the Grange building for the Awards. Madeleine and Hamilton have picked three of the most popular projects in the county, and yet they both get third place in their classes. Madeleine is a bit disappointed, especially with a third in the scrapbooking, as she won the class last year. But, she was also in the younger kids class last year, and now, she's with the older kids. The cake was a little disappointing to her, the winner's cake was a beautiful three tier number covered in little flowers in shades of pink, orange and red. But again these are older kids - the winner has a kid already (some start early in the country) and the Chrysler building used creativity more than talent. We'll see if she'll give it a go again next year. Hamilton, on the other hand was so thrilled with his third place showing he did his happy dance for all the spectators. He even climbed onto the back of the couch before bed last night to kiss his hanging ribbon goodnight. "I'll see you in the morning." he said.

With her Scrapbook and Judge.

Trailer Park Birthday

     Time to switch gears to Georgia's Camperside Birthday Extravaganza 2010! And it is hot. Really hot. But we receive 4H friends and play games and have pizza and ice cream cake and sparklers and listen to the buzz of the motocross bikes in the grandstand area until it is time for bed. Georgia got a "name on rice" from one of her friends. This was a thrill. It is a little piece of rice, with her name on it, in a little rice sized bottle on a necklace. She also got volley ball pads and a volley ball- she is interested in trying out for the 7th grade team, and boring stuff from her parents. Another day at the Fair!

The floppiest laid schemes o' mice, horses, sheep, chickens, and men/ Gang aft agley.

Robert Burns' poem may not have been nearly as frequently quoted had he been me. Plus, we sort of changed the quote to suit our needs, and get rid o' the Scots.
Perhaps I am too used to the "Gang aft agley" part to lay my plans carefully. It doesn't work out for the mouse either. I planned to get the kids off to school, have some tea, go do morning barn chores, water the border garden and perennial bed, pick up manure, do cobwebbing in the bottom of the barn, clean the lamb pen, have some breakfast, tidy the Cowfeathers garden, ride Oslo, put new hinges on east side door of stall 3 so it can be used this winter, get the strawstack in order for the fall, order new straw, have some lunch,call in to work to get client numbers to make calls about bloodwork results and make case plans,  take up the old rug in the sunroom, wash the sunroom floor, put down new rug, replace furniture, show ADT man the security system so he can do some tweaking, process tomotoes to start paste, get cleaned up, take kids #1 and #3 to kid #2's volleyball game, make dinner, do evening barn chores, go to bed.
Horse Plans: Become irritated at close proximity of other mare, bare teeth, put back ears, cause other mare to completely demolish stall wall in stall #2, crash through door to feed room, eat potentially cardiotoxic chick feed.
Chicken plans: Get into rooster fight next to riled up horses, get stomped on by horse. Break something. Scream at top of rooster lungs while being inspected for damages, need stitches.
Sheep Plans: Be inspired by horse escape to participate. Break through stall door, bending hinges, repeatedly crash into brand new barn tools until they are suitably unusable. Follow horse to feed room, get run off of potentially toxic chick feed and go through fencing. Find horribly expensive ornamental kale and just-ready-to-bloom chrysanthemums. Find kale very tasty. Find chrysanthemums stomp worthy.
My plans: change my plans.

Bleacher Butt

Bleacher butt. I've got it. Thursday was volleyball, child #2's team fighting a hard one to victory against a well matched team. Those 7th grade girls seem very poised.

Child #2 ready to play!

Friday night was football, of course, with  contest dress rehearsal following of the guest band, and our home band.

Half time, marching it out!

Saturday morning was volley ball again- and another victory. Only had to move my seat once to avoid the parent of an unlucky child with APS (Athletic Parent Syndrome, only there is a different "A" word used).. he felt it would be useful to scream regularly at the 12 year old girls to "WAKE UP!" and "YOU CAN'T LET THE BALL TOUCH THE GROUND!" and other useful tidbits I'm sure they were not previously privy to.
His helpful bonmots weren't quite enough to cheer them to victory over our team. Perhaps if he stayed home? ( Then the AAPS -Absentee _____ Parent Syndrome, much healthier).
Saturday night, another set of bleachers. This time for the first Band Contest of the year. Band is not a part of my history. I think I mentioned in the blog "Football Friday Night" that my high school barely had a football team, let alone a marching band. So, I have a learning curve that is long and looping in the Band World. Not so, my husband, who was  a handsome young band geek in high school, then in college, even spending some summers playing with Drum Corps. He "gets" the band stuff. I "get" the horse stuff. I rely on him to keep me on track with the band; schedules, contests, rules, lingo etc. He occasionally fills up the horse's water buckets. See? Balance. Anyway, the Band is there, certainly to cheer on and entertain the team and the crowd, but they are also there to compete against other bands. Thus, band contests. Bands perform their show and are judged, getting scored and placed. You have to receive a "superior" rating, or a "1" at a contest in order to compete at the State level against the best bands in Ohio.
To this end, beginning in late July, the band begins practicing, long days, even an entire week of overnight camp to practice and practice. My eldest, a floutist and fine marcher, acquires a marchingbandtan and a bleached ponytail spending the hottest days of the summer marching around on a blacktop parking lot in the sun.  She still loves it. The show is created by the band directors, in our case the Director, and the Percussion Director, plus two other members of staff who write music, and make up the complicated charts that place band members on the field to create all sorts of forms.
This year, our Marching Band "The Golden Sound of the Vikings" has a show titled "Joy", and features classical pieces, including "Ode to Joy" by Beethoven. The music is wonderful, and difficult, and the marching forms are intricate, and require precision. They have perfected 3/4 of the show, but here it is, time for the first contest, and 1/4 is not done. Hmm. Well, required time is just barely met with the 3/4, so let's try for a superior rating in the first contest of the year.
"Please Take the Field for your OMEA Adjudicated Performance" And here snakes the long line of blue and gold ants, white plumes on their heads to line up and become a flowing musical force. My long suffering weekend in the bleachers had already seen the performance twice, but this time it was marvelous. These kids like crunch time! They were terrific. The other bands had different shows, different uniforms, different sizes and flags, but they all paled a bit to me... biased momma.
After all the bands performed, the drum majors from all the bands, usually a few Senior captains with them, line up in front of the stands for the award ceremony. Again, our band stood out. The rest of the kids walked onto the field in a loose group. Our team of 8 Marched on. Tight. The representatives of the two bands that followed our Captains, quickly tried to mash themselves into a better looking form...not nearly as successfully.
 The bands are divided into classes by size of school. Our school is in Class A. There is one class larger, that is Class AA. Two classes are smaller, Class B and the smallest, Class C. They awarded C, and B before awarding Class A. Our school placed first in Class A! Then, the gravy, there are awards for Best Marching -ours, Best Music- ours, Best Percussion Section- ours and Best Auxillary(the flag corps)- also ours. Wow! That is some proof! Maybe I'm not just biased. They then awarded the Class AA bands. One AA band received three of the 4 extra awards, the music, marching and percussion. What I didn't know, is that we weren't yet finished. They then awarded Best Marching, OVERALL- ours! Best Music, OVERALL- theirs. Best Auxillary, OVERALL- ours! and then.... BEST BAND OVERALL- OURS!!!! YOWZA! Our band had taken the #1 prize. I'm not biased, I'm right!  Just when I think it has gotten as good as it can get........ they announce "The following are the bands that have received a Superior Rating, and are approved to compete at the State Marching Band Competition".....ours! Wow, now the kids are feeling top notch. Then the announcer says "On behalf of the schools, I would like to thank you all for coming today...." HUNH? What about the other schools? Did no one else get a #1? Nope. Just the one band. Ours. Maybe I should sneak this bleacher butt out of the stands, there are bleachers to sit in tomorrow.

Jessie, the Assistant Drum Major, holding one of the 9 trophies awarded to the band this night.

 I have a video of  the show- the first minute I couldn't decide where to stand, and it is a bit shaky, it gets better! I've been trying, since last night, to post it on youtube and then I could set up a link. Unfortunately, hours later, I have no success. Tod will try to get it up on youtube tomorrow. Check back for a link!
And here it is...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rBx7GgIP-l0

Lucky Girl

Oslo and Me.

I told my husband I was going to write about him in my blog. And in choosing to write about my horse, I write about my husband. Oslo ended a long search for "my" horse. I have been riding horses for about 36 years. The first pony I owned was Peanut.

Peanut and me, he with a dapper Goose feather in his crown.

 I bought him for a dollar, and as the adage goes "You get what you pay for". I got a lot for my dollar's worth. I got a feisty little bucking machine in black and white who I loved unconditionally. My sister and her friends received hours of entertainment. They would sit on the top of the hill at the neighbor's barn and watch me cross the creek in the valley, a distant round speck. Then they would watch my pony take off in a dead run, nose high in the air, in preparation for the next step in the dance. Buckbuckbuck- boing boing boing... off I'd go, and the pony would turn on his heels and run right back across the creek and up back up the valley to his stall. I would walk back, catch him, repeat. Sometimes I would make it up to the top on the other side of the valley- to the neighbor's barn, and the older kids. Usually not. But, as weeks turned into months, I got better at staying on the pony's broad back during  buckfest. At this point, it was less amusing for my sister and her friends. This prompted her to bring my saddle with her when she rode her horse up the hill after school, leaving me without a saddle. Again, back to the buck and chase. Eventually, I learned to stay on, even bareback, and the fun was gone for both sister, and pony. I don't think it ever occurred to me that falling off several times a day was unusual. I had, after all, watched my sister learn to ride her horse, Frosty, and it seemed that being tossed off was part of the deal.

Third place in my very first show. I was so nervous I cried before the class.

Peanut was the last horse I ever chose for myself. When I grew out of his tidy size, I went on to a series of hand-me-downs from my sister, castoffs from my instructor, green polo prospects, and during college and vet school, horses no one else dared to ride.

Frosty and I finishing Cross Country at the local Horse Trials, Redding CT. circa 1979

Frosty was the champion of all tricks designed to cause passenger ejection, with maiming and dismemberment optional. I sometimes wonder why no adult stepped in and had him made into Alpo. I think we were more casual about bodily harm back then.
By the time I started looking for a horse for "me", I somehow had acquired two mares, Samantha and Peaches and made them suitable mounts for my children.
My friend, Kara, found Oslo for me. She called and said there was a horse that had been donated to a foal rescue for a fundraiser. They were selling him to raise money to save more foals, and it sounded like something I might be interested in. The rescue would be taking him to the Equine Affaire in Columbus to find a buyer.
I couldn't get there until the penultimate day of the extravaganza. I thought he'd already be sold, but the rescue was concerned about finding him a good match. He had some "challenges" and the bulk of the inquiries were from young riders and their trainers. The rescue felt he needed someone with some experience. A facbook friend wrote yesterday that "experience" is just another word for "mistakes". And, that would be me! I don't know how I was so certain that Oslo was my horse, I just was. And, I'm head over heels for the guy. This is why this is a story about my husband. He's okay with that. Even when Oslo is naughty ( and we've had some days that were real doozies!) he makes me happy. I love the man I married, and he knows it enough to not be jealous of  my horse. How lucky am I?

Oslo and I working on small circles.

Here is what I know about Oslo; he is 16.3hh ( for non-horsey types, that means he is 5'6 at the top of his shoulder). He weighs about 1350 lbs. He is classified as dark brown, which means he is black, but fades to a dapple brown in the summer sun. He is an American Warmblood. This means he is a mutt. His heritage is both of cold blood breeding (like a draft horse, think Budweiser) and a hot blood breed ( think Kentucky Derby). This makes him large, with big bones, but also athletic. He has an amazing tail, thick and long, and he is a bit insecure still.
Here is what I think I know about Oslo; he was pushed too fast too young, and developed splints (usually a concussive injury in young horses that causes a bony knob on the "splint bones"- small bones in the leg). When something is difficult for him, he turns into a volcano. I think this was an effective intimidation technique that quickly got him out of work.  And eventually donated, to be purchased by me. I think because of his potential volatility, he was worked exclusively in an arena, which caused him to be bored, frustrated, and more volatile. I was told he would not jump- he's now jumping. He had no idea about trail riding, but does so with genuine joy now. He is athletic and brave, flashy and fun, and very attached to me. I think my husband is too....Lucky Girl.

We're starting to get some extension!

Framed Friday

September New Year's Resolution Project

Harken back to my August entry titled "Livin' Large", and you will see where I started with my September project. It is an entry that is an ode to my living room, or what it was a few weeks back. Today is the Debut of our newly freshened Living Room! TA DA.......

Morning fog and sunrise in the newly fresh Living Room

Table in foreground meant to save couch corner from dirty dog fly-bys turning the edge into mud! You make concessions. Since I spoke in the earlier entry about many things in this room, I'll fill you in a bit. In this photo you can see the "Chicken Chair", the $5 yard sale challenge from friend, Shelley. The Jotul woodstove in the fireplace and the green chest from Gram's crumbling garage- big favorites.  Also the heavy gold framed garage sale mirror- which happens to be a pretty great antique- score! But there are a few new items as well. I actually purchased furniture. Unprecedented. The white couch and chair are new, and slipcovered, with a pair of slipcovers in reserve for easier washing. We live on a farm. We have 3 kids. There will need to be washing. The basketweave jute rug is new.  Also not new, but different is the chandelier, which used to be brass. As my excellent, saintly patient realtor and friend, Brian Kuyper (my baby children had permanent car seats in his car and called him "Kyper") once pointed out : "Cate, you'll paint just about anything but the carpet." How true. In this case, The mantle, original and 181 years old, was un-painted. I stripped it down to my favorite texture, "grotty". It has all the many layers and years visible. Makes me happy. The print over the fireplace is a gift from my parents, hand carried home from Italy. The little blue children's chair is a purchase from a yard sale when I was in college. I sit in it much of the winter, right in front of the woodstove. Maybe this year, I'll choose a comfy big armchair instead?

From the front door

This picture shows the antique secretary, built by my furniture building Pennsylvania ancestor. I'm sure it's value is sentimental, but then, so am I. The desk was also used by my Great Great Uncle Bill. He was one of the first radio operators, and was a communications expert in WW1. He cut the interior part of the desk out to fit his Ham radio.( Why the Ham? Probably should learn a bit more about that).  Until his death in 1984 at the age of 97 he was a radioman. He also started some sort of eye bank, for transplanting eye parts? Probably need to learn a bit more about that too. Anyway, he was a neat guy, and I have his desk. It was old when he got it, from the time when Kings were Kings. Incidently, I also took part of his name for my youngest's middle name. Park. Uncle Bill was called Park for part of his life, and Humes for part of his life, he had 4 names...maybe he wasn't just a communications expert afterall.
Also in the picture is the green sideboard from the projects, and a free coffee table (auction item thrown on the stack of other things no one but me wanted). I sawed off the legs to make it short. Perfect for feet and coasterless glassware.
I painted the ceiling soft blue, and the walls are white, the trim is whiter- slavish devotion to light continues. And I have a very pretty living room this September.

Trish Tribute- Wordless Wednesday

Little G. on Buffie the Water Buffalo, at Uncle Kirk and Aunt Yvonne's house.