Minnesota State Fair 2015

 

My what a busy few days it has been!  We had an overnight with Cubby on Friday, I had a girls’ outing with Captain’s mom and Princess on Saturday, and we did up the Great Minnesota Get Together with some good friends on Sunday.  

Since Captain and I started dating 30 years ago, we have only missed one state fair, and I really can’t even remember why.  Must have been something major, though.

We have gone by ourselves some years, some years we just took the kids, and other years we have gone with friends.  We always try to go on 4-H livestock weekend whether our kids were showing or not.  Young Man had multiple trips with livestock, both with his dairy cow and with dairy steers.  Princess had non-livestock exhibits on two different years as well.  

We have our favorite things to do every year, but the biggest must see is the butterheads being carved.  If you tell me you don’t know what the butterheads are, you are seriously lacking in your Minnesota history education!

Princess Kay of the Milky Way is the goodwill ambassador for Minnesota’s dairy industry.  The first Princess Kay was crowned in 1954, making it the second longest running dairy ambassador program in the country, second only to Wisconsin’s Alice in Dairyland.  And Alice doesn’t get carved in butter like Princess Kay does.

Each year since 1965, Princess Kay and her 11 court attendants each spend a day in a revolving refrigerated glassed-in display area having their likeness carved from a 90-pound block of butter provided by AMPI out of New Ulm, Minnesota.  For the last 40 years, sculptor Linda Christensen has churned (see what I did there?) out entertainment for millions of state fair goers.

We have known a few ladies who have had butterheads over the years, and we can even say we had a Princess Kay in our wedding, even though she had just completed her reign three weeks before we got married.  I happened to find a picture of her butterhead being carved when we were going through the new State Fair History Center where Heritage Square used to be.  Does anyone recognize her?

We love history around here because you never quite know everything about anything, and there is always something new to learn.  Such as these tidbits we found in the floor tiles of the History Center:

Other highlights for us are the 4-H building where the best of the best from 4-Hers across the state is displayed.  Personal favorites for me are the photography exhibits and the woodworking exhibits.  Plus, If we time our visit to the 4-H building right, we also get to see the 4-H Arts In performance.

Captain and our friends made it into the 4-H building while Princess and I were checking out some lawn swings outside the building.  I was trying to get a picture of the Curious George mascot when suddenly, Captain comes back out the door like a bullet and insists “I found something you just have to buy.”  Well, after I picked myself up off the ground where I’d fainted (Captain never makes impulse purchases...EVER), I followed him into the entryway where the Clover Store is.  They sell clothing and accessories related to the promotion of 4-H.  Oh. My. Gosh.  There were the cutest little white onesies that said in bright green lettering “I want to be a Minnesota 4-Her when I grow up!”  He was right--we had to buy that!

The Horticulture Building houses FFA and open class exhibits and is home each year to Minnesota's Biggest Pumpkin which this year weighed in at a hefty 1473 pounds!  We’ve got steers out here that weigh just about that much!  Perusing the educational booths on various aspects of agriculture production in Minnesota is often entertaining, and this year Princess learned that Crystal Sugar is made from sugar beets, so she can no longer say that beets “taste like dirt.”  

As always, food was a big part of the state fair experience with the usual staples of cheese curds, Sweet Martha’s cookies, Aussie potatoes, and poutine, but we always like to try one of the new foods they have.  This year’s choice was the maple bacon funnel cakes in the food building.  Holy sugar high, batman….but oh so worth it!

We don’t do rides as a rule, but this year Princess agreed to ride the space needle with Captain while our friends and I sat in the shade and rested while we waited for them.  When the kids were younger, we couldn't leave the fairgrounds before riding Ye Old Mill.  When we were in the History Center earlier, I saw a little tidbit that there have actually been weddings at Ye Old Mill for people who either fell in love or got engaged there in years past.  Sweet!

One of our last stops is always the International Bazaar (or as we call it the Bizarre Bazaar) because...WOW...there is some weird stuff in there!  Best stop of the day is the stall that sells leather purses, and this year was no different.  I don’t care what anyone says...a woman can never have too many purses.  

So our State Fair 2015 trip is over and done now.  It doesn’t matter who many times we go, the adventure is always new and fun!  If you’ve never been to the Great Minnesota Get Together...first of all, shame on you...and second, don’t let 2016 go by without at least giving it a whirl one time.  

Pass the cheese curds!

It's a dog's life

Hi, this is Dipstick taking over the blog in honor of National Dog Day.  Mrs. Captain is busy, so she handed the controls over to me.  

For those of you who don’t know me from having me chase your car when you drive by, I am an 8-year-old Lab/Dalmation/Rotweiler.  I don’t know how Mr. and Mrs. Captain would get along without me, my mom Dayzee, and my dad Bear.  We keep an eagle eye out for any suspicious activity.  Excuse me while I chase a car…

Whew, got close enough that time to read the tire size!  Where was I?

Oh yeah, our value to Mr. and Mrs. Captain.  Well, first of all, we conduct daily soil borings to make sure that there are no seismic disruptions in the underground.  The Captains don’t seem to appreciate this at all, but it is absolutely necessary for us to dig large holes in various points of the yard just to be thorough.  

The Captains are also pretty harsh about our freedom of expression.  Dogs have feelings too, and we need to talk about them.  Okay, so fine, 3 a.m. might not be the ideal time for it, but what’s a dog to do?

Excuse me, there is another car to chase.  

Don’t get me wrong, the Captains are good parents.  We get our feeder filled every week, and every morning we get our doggie num-nums.  Mom is such a suck up SHE gets to go in the house for her num-num but me and Dad wait outside on the deck.  The Captains try to make me shake for my treat, but after eight years they sort of gave up on that.  Geez, just give me the goods and no one gets hurt!

Some farm dogs help chase cattle, but that’s beneath me.  I have much more important things...excuse me, another car going by.

I think cattle are dumb.  What do they do...walk around, eat corn, drink water, and fart.  I can do that too, but no one appreciates it.  

Sometimes our cousin, Chewy, comes to visit but he is mostly a pain in the butt.  Literally.  He always has his nose in my business!  

Another favorite activity of the Brogan Dogs is chasing bunnies.  There are three of them around here.  I tried that thing that Elmer Fudd talked about, but even being vewy, vewy, quiet doesn’t help.  Those little stinkers are gone in a flash.  

We especially like it when the paper is delivered because the driver stops and gives us another treat.  So does the FedEx man and the UPS driver.  Too bad the Captains don’t order much delivery stuff.  

I was watching the TV through the living room window the other night and saw a commercial for The Cutest Pet contest and have been waiting for the Captains to come and take my picture, but the camera must be on the fritz because they haven’t done it yet.  

Oh how exciting, it’s not a car this time but a guy on a bike...be right back.  

Well, it’s been nice catching up with you.  I have to get back to my duties now.  Fear not, Mrs. Captain will be back to post soon!

Do It Yourself Disasters

It is a commonly known fact that do-it-yourself home improvement projects drastically increase a couple’s risk for divorce, but they don’t hold a candle to farm chores done jointly by a husband and wife.

Take, for instance, chasing steers back into their yard after they’ve gotten out.  I consider myself to be a reasonably intelligent person and, therefore, do not make it a habit to stand directly in the path of a 1500-pound moving animal; unless Captain tells me I have to if I ever want to get the steers back in the yard so we can go work on some home improvement project.  

So I plant my feet wide apart, set my shoulders straight, and bravely face a thundering mass of horns and hooves.  Okay, so there aren’t really any horns, but there could be.  When I succeed in keeping the steers from sneaking past me, my sense of accomplishment quickly evaporates in the deafening tirade from Captain that the steers, while not getting past me, still did not go in the yard because as luck, and his instructions, would have it, I WAS NOT IN THE RIGHT PLACE!  By the time we got all the steers where they belonged, the only home improvement project on our minds was building separate bedrooms.

Silo unloaders are another good catalyst for farm divorces--ask any farm wife, and she will tell you the same thing.  Silo unloaders have a tendency to break down, requiring someone (Captain) to climb the silo to see what is wrong and try to fix it.  Because this usually takes several attempts in which the silo unloader needs to be started and stopped, another person (me) is required to stand at the bottom of silo running the power switch.  

For those of you who don't know Captain, he has a very soft voice that doesn’t usually carry across the kitchen table, much less down a 75-foot silo to where I am.  Add to that disadvantage the fact that I am standing in the middle of 80 very hungry cows who are complaining at the top of their lungs.  Captain can’t quite understand that “yes” and “no” can sound very similar from inside a silo in this setting, causing confusion as to whether I am supposed to start the silo unloader or not.  I once deciphered a message incorrectly and nearly took his finger off.

Perhaps the worst episode of silo unloader repair was the time Captain needed to adjust a doohickey attached to the thingamabob.  Before he climbed up to check it out, he gave me my instructions.  “Wait until I get up there and yell to turn it on.  While it’s running, don’t worry that there isn’t much feed coming down; I’ll get it adjusted and yell for you to turn it off.”  Simple, right?  WRONG!

He climbed the silo and yelled to turn it on.  So far, so good.  After I watched the silage trickle out of the chute for 20 minutes or so, it dawned on me there had to be a problem because I could here a distinct banging on the silo chute.  So, against direct orders, I shut the silo unloader off without his say-so.  At that point, above the banging, I could hear muffled words filtering down the chute.  Direct and immediate action seemed to be in order.

A little investigation on my part revealed the silo chute was plugged tight with silage.  In a panic, I reached into the chute and began frantically digging out the silage.  As I dug, the dialogue from inside the silo became more distinct, and I began to get a bad feeling.  After 30 minutes of digging and hearing phrases that not only questioned my intelligence but cast doubt on my parentage as well, I almost quit digging to leave him in there, but I finally got the last of the silage out…and Captain.  

When he asked what I thought I’d been doing and why hadn’t I shut the silo off sooner, I reminded him (gently, mind you; I’m no fool) that he had said the silage would not be coming out fast.  I won’t go into his reply, but you can use your imagination to know what he said to me for plugging the silo chute with a good 20 feet of silage.

One story Captain likes to tell is about the time, on a bitterly cold day, he had to scale the roof to clean the wood stove chimney.  I, of course, had to stand at the bottom of the ladder to make sure it didn’t blow down while he was on the roof.  When he finished, he found that the roof was too slippery to try and slide down to the ladder.  So I told him to wait while I got a length of clothesline to use as a rescue rope.  Disgust does not begin to cover how he viewed my offering of a 3-1/2 foot section of nearly-frayed clothesline.  He actually suggested I might have an ulterior motive of trying to “do him in” for his life insurance.  He has since learned that one does not insult the guard of the ladder or one ends up stranded on the roof on a bitterly cold day until such time as the guard of the ladder is sufficiently satisfied with the apology offered from the rooftop and puts the ladder back against the house.

I was, in time, forgiven for these incidents and have since experienced others.  Through it all, Captain and I have managed to keep our marriage intact.  Our buzz phrase now if such an episode occurs is “We married for better or worser..we just didn’t know it would be this worser.”  It is our way of saying to each other, “I’m sorry” and “I forgive you.”  It is comforting to have such an informal way to apologize and be pardoned.  Most of all, though, the phrase says, “ I love you.”

The Tale of Three Franks

Friday was a beautiful day for one last camping trip to Whitewater State Park.  Because I had to work in the morning, Captain took care of the packing.  At noon on the dang dot, I clocked out and we hit the road.  

We were crossing our fingers for a first come/first served site being available, and luck was with us...we got the last one!  We found the site and got everything set up.  This is when we realized that, once again, we had forgotten the camp chairs.  Oh well, the picnic table would just have to do for lounging.  

Captain wanted to hike to Inspiration Point which is a bluff overlook area facing south from the state park.  The first part of the trail was a couple of hundred stone steps.  By the time we got to the top--with two breaks for me to catch my breath--I was done.  A very nice lady asked me as I was wheezing and panting on the bench along the trail if I would like her to take my picture with my husband.  Yep, I’m looking my best right now with beet-red cheeks and sweat running...well, everywhere...but okay.  

We looked at the trail map, and Inspiration Point was about another ¾ mile and labeled “difficult.”  NO thank you!  I gave Captain the camera and told him to have a good time.  I’d just go back to the trail head and wait for him.  So, off he went.

I traipsed back down the stairs, which for some reason seemed even worse than going up.  I got to the bottom and realized I’d better keep moving or I was going to cramp up something fierce.  As I was walking across the park area, I stopped at a kiosk with flyers posted on it about the park.  Okay, I wasn’t really reading the flyers, I was trying to look nonchalant while I panted my way back to regular breathing.  I am an overweight, out-of-shape woman...sue me.  But through the sweat running in my eyes, I saw an announcement for a nature program for that night about an old cemetery in a nearby ghost town.  Hmmmm...that sounded better than hiking!

I regained feeling in my legs and made it back to camp to wait for Captain.  I told him about the cemetery thing, and since we both have an interest in old cemeteries, we decided to go.  We had just enough time to make a quick supper first and clean up before we went to the Visitor’s Center for the program.  

The focus of the program was the town of Beaver, which was settled after the Civil War.  The returning soldiers and their families found the fertile Whitewater River valley to be very good wheat-growing ground, so they cleared the flats to plant wheat, but planted over the hills rather than across the hills (contour stripping) so erosion was a huge factor.  Unfortunately, they also cleared the hills of the trees to make grazing pastures for cows.  After a few years of these practices, the flooding began because there was nothing to stop the heavy rains from washing down the steep hills and through the valley.  In one particular year, Beaver flooded 28 times!  The townspeople tried to recover year after year after year, but eventually nature won the battle and the town was abandoned.  It shouldn’t technically be called a ghost town, because it is still there.  It is just buried under 15 feet of sand, silt, and soil.  It was the the CCC that helped save the rest of the valley replanting thousands upon thousands of trees on the bare hillsides and working to restore the wetlands in the valley.

Anyway, back to the story of Beaver.  So, even though the town is gone, it’s cemetery is still there, maybe due to being on higher elevation.  It is beautifully maintained through a contract with the state park system.  The naturalist who led the program had done an immense amount of research and told us something about half a dozen of the people buried there.  One was the founding father of the town and a pillar of the community.  His family planted this tree when he was buried...160 years ago!!

There as another spot that had a circle of cedar trees with two markers outside the circle and two markers inside.  The markers inside the trees were for children that hadn’t survived childhood, and the markers outside were for the parents.  

There were two small markers in the middle where, the story goes, after a diphtheria outbreak in the town, a father had to go in the middle of the night by himself to bury his two young children because he didn’t want to spread the virus to his friends and neighbors, so he had to grieve alone at the gravesides.  

But the story that really caught me was the tale of the three Franks.  Near the back of the cemetery was a row of markers for the Irish family (surname, not nationality).  There was a girl whose name I can’t remember, then a Frank, then another Frank, and then an Arvid.  All children.  The parents of these youngsters wanted a son named Frank, but had to bury two sons named Frank before the third one survived.   Interesting stuff, but so darn sad!  

I’m glad we went on that nature program, even though it was kind of sad.  We learned things about a town in our own backyard that we hadn’t even known existed.  So the bucket list now has “attend a nature program at every state park” as well.  It serves to remind me that the opportunities for education are everywhere if I just pay attention.

What?  You act like you are waiting for something!  Oh yes, I promised the answers to the tag line quiz!  In the interest of full disclosure, I found these on the Internet and I only knew a handful of them off hand.  Here you go, let me know how you did!

1. You’re in good hands with Allstate
2. Flick my Bic
3. Calgon take me away
4. GE--we bring good things to life
5. Please don’t squeeze the Charmin
6. Cooks who know trust Crisco
7. Aren’t you glad you use Dial
8. Nothing sucks like Electrolux
9. Don’t get mad, get Glad
10. Pardon me, do you have any Grey Poupon
11. How about a nice Hawaiian Punch
12. Hertz puts you in the driver’s seat
13. Pure clean, pure Ivory
14. Nothing runs like a Deere
15. Every kiss begins with Kay
16. Do the Dew
17. Pepsi Cola hits the spot (and as my dad used to say “ten minutes later hits the pot!”)
18. With a name like Smuckers, it has to be good
19. I coulda had a V-8
20. Bye-bye, buy bonds.

Thanks for playing!

Tag Lines

If you ever thing that advertising doesn't pay...think again, my friend.  Some stick with you more than others and last generations.  I tracked down some well-known tag lines and have left a blank where the product/brand name would be.  Some of these were from before my time, and I still know them because my parents repeated them over and over and over.  How many can you guess without Googling them?  Answers will be posted on Monday.  Good luck!

1.  You’re in good hands with _____

2.  Flick my _____

3.  _____take me away

4.  _____--we bring good things to life

5.  Please don’t squeeze the _____

6.  Cooks who know trust _____

7.  Aren’t you glad you use _____

8.  Nothing sucks like _____

9.  Don’t get mad, get _____

10.  Pardon me, do you have any _____

11.  How about a nice _____

12.  _____ puts you in the driver’s seat

13.  Pure clean, pure _____

14.  Nothing runs like a _____

15.  Every kiss begins with _____

16.  Do the _____

17.  _____ hits the spot

18.  With a name like _____, it has to be good

19.  I coulda had a _____
20.  Bye-bye, buy _____
Hey, _____ Man!

Creepy Crawlies

I don’t consider myself to be a squeamish person...possible nocturnal campground encounters with Bigfoot notwithstanding.  Most creepy crawly things don’t bother me.  Bats are okay as long as they are outside.  If they came in my house, I might freak out, but I’ve never had to test that theory.

Same with snakes.  I think they are interesting in their display cases at Oxbow Zoo, but if there was one coming at me in its natural habitat, I might freak out.

Spiders...well, it depends on what kind. The daddy longlegs that I find in the bathtub now and then are harmless.  However, several years ago when we rented pasture land from a neighbor and had to walk the fence cutting down weeks--that would be a 5-strand barbed wire fence--we ran into some of those nasty black spiders with the yellow spot or stripe on the back.  Yeah, everybody but Captain vaulted OVER the fence.  I’d have gone right through the dang fence if I’d needed to.  Eeeeeuuuwww!

Now mice, they don’t bother me at all.  I know a lot of women who jump on chairs and scream bloody murder at the sight of a mouse.  My first reaction is Well you little stinker, where did you come from?  And then I set out traps.  The spring that Princess graduated high school, we had some mice in the house, so I set some snap traps.  Those little critters were sneaky and would get the peanut butter (yes, this works better than cheese) off the trap and never trip the trap.  

Undaunted, I set a series of traps along the wall beneath the picture window, behind the entertainment center, and behind the couch.  No sneaky little rodent was going to get the best of me!  

There I was watching TV one night, and Mr. Mouse comes scurrying at warp speed along the wall beneath the picture window.  As I watch him approach the first trap, he skids to a screeching halt, stopping a whisker-breadth away from the trap.  He takes a minutes to observe the trap ahead, then beats a retreat to think about it.

Next thing I see is Mr. Mouse stealthily sneaking along the wall.  He skirts around the first trap, narrowly avoids the second trap, and completely misses the third trap.  What the fudge?!  Now it’s war.  

I upgraded from the snap traps to the glue traps.  I put the blob of peanut butter smack in the center of the trap and set them out.  No way could Mr. Mouse get to the PB without stepping in the sticky part of the trap.  And that stuff sticks, let me tell you!  Ask Dipstick, who laid in one once and had it stuck to his side for about a week.  Brogan--1; mouse--0.  

Anyway, so creepy crawlies.  The one thing that will make me lose my mind in terror is grasshoppers.  When I was a kid, Dad grew oats that had to be stored in the grain bin.  It was my job to get up in the gravity box and push all the oats down toward the door where they then went into the auger and finally into the grain bin.  Oats are loaded with grasshoppers, and by the time I would finish emptying the wagon, I had grasshoppers in my hair, up my pants legs, and down my shirt.  The boogey woogey bugle boy had nothing on me trying to dance those suckers out of my clothes.  

By now, most of you have probably seen the picture I posted yesterday of the grotesque giant grasshopper that was on my bedroom wall, but here’s a refresher look.

That thing was FREAKING gross! When I saw that, my heart almost stopped. Since I didn’t have a bazooka laying around to kill it with, I got my trusty fly swatter (on sale at Menards, thank you very much).  It took me 30 seconds to even get close enough to swing with the swatter because I didn’t know if it was going to jump or fly at me, which would have just put me on the floor in a puddle of panic.  Finally screwed up my courage and took a swing.  I killed it dead as Moses with the fly swatter, but then the dead carcass came flying off the wall right at me.  I’m not too proud to admit I screamed like a little girl. It landed on the floor, so I threw a towel over it and stomped on it half a dozen times just to make sure it was really dead because you never know with those nasty, evil things. I ran out of the room whimpering and made Captain dispose of the body.  It’s been 24 hour and I still have the willies.  

As I read this over, I realize I need to revise my original statement to:  Damn right I am squeamish about creepy crawly things!!