Pork Festival


Every year we go to the Preble County Pork Festival where we feast on a smorgasbord of pork chops, sausage, ham, applesauce, potato salad, cole slaw, baked beans, rolls and pie.


Although Sophie technically attended last year’s festival—in utero—this was really her first one. I’ve only missed the festival twice. One year I was in Costa Rica, another year I was with Andy, who was in the hospital for appendicitis. One year, Aunt Katy, who has never missed, came in second place in the longest pigtail contest. We all thought it was quite funny that she lost to a boy.



This year we ate with my parents, my uncle Mark, my cousin Ed, his wife Lisa, and their two daughters, Autumn and Amanda.


Sophie petted a baby pig.


And as such, got a sticker!


I forgot to pack a bonnet. It was sunny, so a burp cloth had to do.


On the way home we stopped by Grandma Gebhart’s house …


… and Grandma Mangan’s. But Tucker had been home a long time by this point so we, unfortunately, couldn’t visit long.


Sophie did pretty well with all the driving. On the way to Grandma Gebhart’s house she comforted herself by sucking on her monkey’s foot. On the way home, despite stopping to nurse and change her diaper, she was pretty upset. So finally I put on one of her favorite songs, “Helplessly Hoping” by Crosby, Stills and Nash. I don’t know why she likes it so much (besides the fact that it’s a great song). But all I know is that the moment the song would end, she would get fussy. So I played it over and over and over—probably close to 20 times—on the way home. Maybe she secretly loves alliteration, like her mom.

“Thou shall not kill. Thou shall not commit adultery. Don’t eat pork. I’m sorry, what was that last one? Don’t eat pork. God has spoken. Is that the word of God or is that pigs trying to outsmart everybody?” —Jon Stewart