Quilts, Cow Drawings, and Swag Bags: Winter Farm Show Adventures

It had been quite a while since I last attended a winter farm show, and it felt like I was long overdue. The only problem with going to a winter farm show is the “winter” part. It’s unfailingly cold in this neck of the woods when those particular events are held, but duh, it’s wintertime.

Strolling around and perusing the booths and exhibits, it pleased me to see numerous young parents with children in tow. I thought, “Why aren’t those munchkins in school?” but then it dawned on me that it was Saturday. Time flies when you don’t know what you’re doing.

A nice selection of new farm equipment was on display. At one point I espied a small boy sitting in the cab of a gleaming skid steer loader, shoving its joysticks this way and that while making motor noises with his mouth. I found this extremely annoying. I had to wait for several long minutes before he exited the machine so that I could have my turn to sit in its cab and make motor noises.

As I wandered about, I overheard a grandma saying to her toddler granddaughter, “This is where cows get to ride. Do you want to go in there, Tiffany?”

The grandma then helped the little girl climb into the rear compartment of a shiny new stock trailer. I grinned at the grandma and said, “Farm kids grow up different from other kids.”

“They sure do!” replied the grandma, smiling back at me.

One of the booths was promoting health care supplements that, I presumed, are supposed to make it possible for a person to live forever. Right next to that booth was one that featured memorial stones. I guess if the stuff that you purchase from first booth doesn’t work, you simply get something from the second one.

I ran into my old friend Roger, who was manning the booth that was promoting the newspaper that he and some others had recently launched. Roger basically forced me to take several copies of his newspaper along with one of those ubiquitous farm show yardsticks. I took the yardstick even though I have several functional tape measures at home. There’s even an app on my smartphone that can take measurements although I don’t think it would work very well for building furniture. 

Walking around with the yardstick only served as reminder of how I’ve failed to “measure up” in so many different ways.

A booth that contained roughly an acre of handmade quilts that were hanging from frames caught my eye. My mother used to make quilts so I can appreciate the high levels of patience and artistry that are required to piece together just one of those decorative blankets. I lack both patience and artistry, which is why I don’t make quilts.

I stopped and chatted with the two ladies who were running the booth. A sign behind them indicated that the are members of their local quilt guild. Would that mean that they are quilter guilders?

One lady related that she had sewn denim quilts for her two sons when they were little boys. Now, as fully grown men, they will wrap themselves in their quilts whenever they feel chilly.

“They say that their old quilts still warm them right up,” she smiled.

“It’s more than just the cloth,” I replied. “It’s the warmth of a mother’s love.”

She agreed with that sentiment. We both choked up a little.

One wall of the exhibit hall was plastered with farm safety posters that had been created by 10-year-old schoolkids. Many of the posters contained artwork that far surpasses anything that I could have ever produced. My artistic skills are limited to drawing stickmen who all seem to have a tragic case of the rickets.

Some of the posters were both educational and amusing. One featured a drawing of Holstein cow and slogan that read, “Be aware, cows are everywhere!” That might be true but only if somebody (Oops! Sorry!) had left the gate open, allowing the cows to escape their enclosure.

Another farm safety poster warned, “Never stand behind a horse!” I couldn’t agree more, especially if the equine in question had recently been given a large dose of industrial strength-laxatives.

I picked up a free swag bag and began to fill it with complimentary pens, scratch pads, and other assorted tchotchkes. One booth gave away small plastic funnels while another offered plastic ice cream scoops.

I didn’t need any of those items. But it just wouldn’t seem like a winter farm show if a guy didn’t bring home some valuable gifts for his wife.   

Jerry’s book, “Dear County Agent Guy” can be found at www.workman.com and in bookstores nationwide.