I walked out of my house that Sunday last June carefully carrying my newest culinary creation—blackberry jam cake with caramel icing—to my daughter Cathy’s car for the drive to the Virginia/Kentucky District Fair, where I’ve been entering my food and crafts since the early 1980s.
Cathy had the trunk of her Camry filled to the top with my canned corn, peaches, spaghetti sauce, sauerkraut, jellies and pickles. I put my quilt entry in a hard plastic tote. We found a spot for my three fudges and peach pie. Making sure everything fit securely was like a giant game of Jenga.
“We’re all set, Mama,” Cathy said as she shut the trunk.
“Now drive real slow,” I told her. Those 17 miles to the fairgrounds might be the most challenging part of this whole process. Every time the car hit a bump, I sent up a prayer asking that no Ball jar cracked and no icing got smudged. (Judges take off points for that.)
We pulled into the fairground parking lot and lugged all the boxes across the gravel, past cows and goats and the Ferris wheel, to the exhibit building. Fair staff greeted us at a long table where they logged in my entries. Early the next day, an anonymous panel of judges would get to work to decide the winners. Results would be posted the first day of the fair.
Like always, I ended up calling Cathy that night to go over what I’d made and wonder if I should have changed this or that. Waiting for the results is nerve-racking even for someone like me, who has been doing this for decades.
I have to laugh, though, when I think of how I got here. God sure had his hand in it because back when I was a young newlywed, I had absolutely no interest in cooking. All I could make were sandwiches. My husband, Frank, liked bologna and tomato with mayo so that’s what I made for dinner—every night.
Poor guy. Never complained once. I packed sandwiches in his lunch pail too with a thermos of coffee and a glass bottle of Pepsi to take with him to the coal mines. My father was a miner, and one of my brothers had died in a mining accident, so I always said extra prayers for the Lord to watch over Frank as I kissed him goodbye.
The Thanksgiving our first baby, Frank Jr., was one, I wanted to step it up a notch. I made a big turkey. I had no idea what that little pouch of stuff inside the bird was for so I just left it in. Fortunately, Frank said he’d never tasted better turkey. That boosted my confidence.
I scoured magazines for recipes. Asked everyone at church. I would have asked my mother, who was an excellent cook (her chocolate fudge at Christmas was my favorite), but she’d suffered a stroke that left her bedridden and unable to talk.
My mother-in-law, Celia, lived right next door to us. One day, I saw her making a quilt with little Dutch doll appliqués. “I’d like to make one for Cathy,” I told her. “Can you show me how?” By then, Frank and I had the first of our two daughters. “Come sit next to me, Linda,” she said.
Celia was real patient with me. I was holding the quilting fabric in my lap and actually sewed it to my skirt! We both had a good laugh. Later, after my mom died, my mother-in-law gave me a gentle hug. “I can’t ever take your mom’s place,” she said, “but I’ll always be here to help you.” And she was. I learned from her how to can tomatoes, make sauerkraut and roll the flakiest piecrust. I improved my sewing and learned how to embroider.
In his teens, Frank Jr. liked working on model kits, gluing hundreds of tiny plastic pieces to make cars and such. He was especially proud of a stagecoach and horses he’d made, and he entered it in the fair. “Mama, you should enter those pillowcases you sewed,” he said. “Nah. I would never win,” I said. “Well, you don’t know that,” he said.
So I folded the crisp white pillowcases I had embroidered with little birds and roses and gave them to him to enter. Would you believe they won a blue ribbon! That inspired me. I’ve entered every fair since.
I’ll always be grateful to my son for giving me that little push I needed. Nine years ago, he died in an accident while driving his tractor trailer. He was studying to be a minister. I take comfort knowing he’s with the Lord. Still, it’s bittersweet come fair time knowing he’s not here to cheer me on.
I start planning what I’ll enter in the fair months in advance. Last year, things slowed me down. In October 2021, Cathy lost her husband to Covid. I lost my oldest brother and his wife to it in December. Right after Christmas, I was diagnosed with leukemia.
For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like cooking. So Frank took us out for dinner. But the next day, I got back to doing what I love. Cooking and canning got my mind off the diagnosis and the grief. So did reading my Bible and talking to God. I stirred and prayed, asking God to give me strength to get through this battle too.
The Tuesday after Cathy and I dropped off my entries, Frank took me to the fairgrounds to see how I did. Inside the exhibit building, all my entries were displayed on shelves. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I counted 25 blue ribbons! They were on my fudges, yeast rolls, biscuits, kraut, canned peppers, pies, jellies, preserves, brownies, chocolate chip cookies and that blackberry jam cake. My quilt embroidered with a butterfly won. (A far cry from those early days when I sewed the quilt to my skirt.) I even swept some categories!
Frank hugged me. “I always knew who the best cook was.”
I take a chemo pill once a day, and doctors tell me I’m doing great. The Lord has been so good to me. He gave me cooking and crafting to sustain me through life’s heartaches. He saw fit that I get this far. I’m in his hands the rest of the way. And if he gives me more opportunities to win blue ribbons, I’m going for them. I’m already planning what my entries will be for this year’s fair.
Try Linda’s Blue Ribbon Peanut Butter Fudge!
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