Yesterday's Best-in-Shows include guinea fowl eggs, which are small and round and brown and freckled and are the cutest things you'll ever see; as well as a vegetable assortment that featured, believe it or not, a Harmony-grown artichoke.
Maine State Two-Crust Apple Pie Contest.
Three judges with preconceived notions about pie but trying unsuccessfully to be objective.
Ten 8th-graders subsequently invading the Exhibit Hall and selling exorbitantly priced slices of pie to their unwary grandparents.
And then, remarkably, I have the afternoon off. Perhaps I will watch the draft horse pull. As my son remarked, those draft horses are buff.
But I am likely to be back in the evening, fetching children and watching fireworks. The fireworks are always lame, but they are the only ones we have. And there's something pleasant about shivering on the bleachers watching third-rate bluegrass under the lights of the Italian Sausage Sandwich trailer, as all the children you know run around erratically, or cluster conspiratorially in groups, or play in the third-rate bluegrass band, as their parents sit alongside us in the bleachers, not talking to us, but companionably enough. Sometimes contiguity is almost like friendship.
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