Last week I mentioned that I couldn’t smell fall yet, but I could hear it in the shift of insects. The tree down at the end of the street is starting to turn, but that might be the one that got hit by lightning. My pumpkins are finishing up, and I don’t think I’ll get any new ones started–the first ones to set fruit are already in. But the surest sign of fall is the fair. If you remember last year, Guy and I went to the fair (they have a crash-em-up car derby that I enjoy. (grin) I also enjoy the games and cotton candy and fair food, as awful as it is. (yum) And I always take a day to stroll the green barn where the entries for canning, photography, flower arrangement, and “weird squash” are on display.
This year, my mom put her very determined “I want to do something new” shoes on, and she kidnaped me, forced me into the car, and drove me all the way out there to enter some of her needlework and my yarn twiddles into the fair. It was an adventure getting organized, but the smiling, eager ladies there walked
us through it, making sure we got into the right category. (I’m in other. How very . . . typical. ) I don’t have a picture, but when I get them back on Sunday, I’ll show you the vase of crochet/knitted daisies that I entered.
I also managed to get a picture of the gallynipper mosquito that I was telling you about. Dude. The first picture is the grass mosquito that we usually have.