« January 2005 | Main | December 2005 »
October 19, 2005
Renfrew County Plowing Match, Part Two
Eric pointed to a spot behind him. “ I’ve been saving it for you.”
Sandy slowly turned the TV station’s jeep around and backed up to the main entrance to the Plowing Match.
“This is great,” said Raggmopp. “Every spectator has to walk past us.”
“We’ll get them coming AND going! Thanks Eric.” Sandy reached for a couple of CAPT-TV ball caps. “Would you guys like some hats?”
They chatted as Francis led Sandy through the ticket gate. Raggmopp came from around the side of the Jeep, after marking it has hers. The Old English Sheepdog captured the attention of the volunteers allowing the organizer and the TV dude to walk through unnoticed.
Things were going well. At least a couple of dozen invited agencies were setting up their displays. They had reserved space in three huge tents. Fot the large displas, they could drive their trucks or vans up to the back of the tents to unload. Francis pointed out the breakfast tent and the three of them headed for it. One group were cooking the meat. Another group of volunteers tried to figure out how to get enough electricity for coffee. A fuse or something kept shutting off the power. That was when the lamb came running around the corner and ran into Raggmopp.
They both jumped up and took off out of the tent. You don’t stop and think about chasing a sheep when you’re an Old English Sheepdog. You just go. It is instinctive. At least, that was the excuse Raggmopp was going to use.
“A real live lamb!” It was a dream come true. In a monthly recurring fantasy, the Old English Sheepdog thought she was flying across the field. It was a very pleasant feeling to be just four or five feet off the ground. She usually traveled at a brisk walk. People would wave but no more than they already did. In this world, it was normal to see a flying dog. Ah.
This was the real thing. The lamb though it was pretty good at abrupt changes of direction. Raggmopp let it think so and hung just a little behind the lamb. When a physical activity is this much fun, you stretch it out as much as you can.
Sandy looked at Francis. Everyone watched the two animals race across the field. “They’re fine. Really. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” Sandy really wanted to get the attention away from a possible looming disaster. “Black for me. How about you?”
“The sheep…”
“Lamb, I would guess. Probably more tired now than she was scared. Raggmopp will bring her back.” Sandy was pleased with himself. Being with television people for so long, he could fake sincerity.
Children had taken up the chase, followed slowly by a few parents. The end of the excitement was near. “Well, the light is on the pot so we could try a cup,” a volunteer offered. Sandy got a second coffee, which he took one back to Eric.
“Thanks. My brother, Rob, is here as well. He’s got a display. He has shingles!”
“You make that sound like a good thing.”
“He makes them by hand for roofs in the Ottawa Valley. Just walk over to where your dog was headed. You’ll find the place.
Sandy found Raggmopp at the breakfast tent and got a cup for Rob Dougherty.
“Was that fun?”
“I need to get into shape,” lamented the Old English Sheepdog. “I want to do that again.”
“We’re seeing Eric's younger brother. He’s got shingles.”
“Sorry to hear that.
Sandy and Raggmopp had plenty of time to tour before the plowing match started. They checked out the displays in the tents. There was a man who made writing paper. He had samples and stock for sale. Someone else proclaimed his items were featured on the television station’s show, Regional Contact. Instead of a half an hour show with 11 stories that were two minutes long, there were only two or three stories. The items were about talented artists, etc. in the TV viewing area. It was the fourth largest TV market in Canada. The show could be seen by roughly a population the size of New York City.
“Jesus Christ”, Raggmopp yelled. Sandy looked and there was a huge carving of the Son of God. “Cute”, whispered Sandy. “Very clever of you”.
“It is his likeness; it’s on a tree trunk”.
“That’s because a human made it.”
“Ah,” said the dog, pretending he hadn’t understood the concept earlier. Another stand, this one smaller, sold copies of the history of the small church on the north bank of the Madawaska River. Sandy found the index, went to ‘Weddings’ and looked up his own.
“Can I help you?” asked the woman.
“Shouldn’t that be ‘may’?”, wondered the dog.
“Yes,” Sandy replied to both. “A wedding I attended doesn’t seem to be included in your list.”
As she checked, Raggmopp suggested, “Maybe they only include the ones that work out. Aren’t you divorced? Hey, Milk Pencils!”
“Gotta go,” explained Sandy as the dog pulled him away form the church’s kiosk.
“Thanks for the excuse to cut out buddy.”
The dog didn’t answer, but continued to pull towards the booth set up by the Dairy Farmers Of Canada.
“Are Milk Pencils made from milk?” the dog asked, when they arrived.
“I believe they are lactose-free,” guessed Sandy.
“Absolutely right.” The woman handed them two unsharpened writing instruments. “Congratulations! You’ve won two black and white ‘Holstein’ pencils.”
As he thanked her, Raggmopp was starting to ask if they felt like leather.
Between tents, sat a man with primitive looking furniture. Sandy spotted at three-legged table and prevented the Old English Sheepdog from ‘spotting’ it in her way. The table-top was a triangular piece of rock that must have weighed 30 kilograms. It was sitting on three legs of Birch with the bark still around. Although the bark was attached, the rock top was not. It was just sitting on the perfectly made base. Neither of them had ever seen anything like it. Sandy paid for it right there, but asked for it to be kept for the next couple of hours.
“No problem. I just don’t want to have to haul it back home,” he said. He almost had to. That afternoon, Raggmopp and Sandy would leave the plowing match, returning to Ottawa without the table.
They wandered over to join a crowd watching a horse. It lumbered around in a short circle; hooked to a turn-still. That device was attached to a saw, causing a log to get shorter. “Who has the time to do that?”, asked Raggmopp.
“They probably don’t have good cable television service,” proposed Sandy. Then he recognized Eric’s brother, Rob Dougherty. A sign helped too.
They watched as Rob sliced thin wedges of cedar for roof shingles. Rob was younger than Sandy but he had an older sister, Donna that had sung in the church choir with Sandy and Eric. Their teacher, choirmaster and organist, Albert Stephen had retired. Before he left the schools, ‘Steve’, had developed a love of music, especially singing, in thousands of pupils in Renfrew County.
Their chat was cut short by an announcement. The Celebrity Plowing Match was about to start. Sandy and Raggmopp grabbed seats with the rest of the audience in the stands. The owner of a new radio station was the master of ceremonies. The station was so new, it wasn’t on the air yet. They just needed some more money. He introduced the most important politician in attendance. Cheryl Gallant was the Federal Member of Parliament for Renfrew. One of only two Conservative M.P.s in Ontario, thought Sandy.
When they were all called up to the stage, the guests were led to their ‘ride’. A tractor pulled the carts on rubber wheels. It resembled a train. They made a couple of passes in front of the stands then were taken to the plowing field.
Sandy tried to make a joke as he sat beside the M.P. but she didn’t get it. Raggmopp also asked for an explanation but Sandy gave up. The train had arrived. The destination was a field that already had one side plowed. With a real farmer standing beside the tractor’s seat, the politician was the first to try steering the John Deere in a straight line. Although he offered advice, for the really bad drivers, he could help steer the machine.
Sandy and the Old English Sheepdog watched. “They’re not using horses,” Raggmopp noticed. “Your mother will be disappointed.”
“Look. I’m going to have a rough time as it is. I think I’ll try to be the winner in another category.”
“What? Worst celebrity plower?”
Sandy answered by looking down as the dog looked up. They both smiled.
A celebrity each from both the country radio and a local television station plowed. Mark Papousek looked like he knew what he was doing. ‘Pappy’ had grown up in Renfrew. TV’s Glenn Schiller, on the other hand, had a more difficult plow.
As luck would have it, Sandy went last. It was perfect. Any contestant coming after him would have a difficult time plowing straight. You have a better chance if you used the row that was just plowed, as a guide for the row you were making. Sandy went out of his way, to go out of the way. Although the farmer tried to take over the wheel, Sandy just kept turning it sharply left and then right about every twenty feet or so. It was tough to head left into the unturned soil. Sandy found the tractor preferred the plowed field on the right, more to the machine’s liking. When they got to the end, it was the worst furrow in the history of the match. It had to be. Probably. They didn’t actually keep records of that embarrassing category but everyone was fairly certain that nobody had ever done it like that.
Raggmopp pronounced, “I knew you weren’t much of a celebrity, but I never knew how badly you plowed!”
As the master of ceremonies started to announce the winner, Sandy and Raggmopp proudly started to walk to the stage. They faked outrage at the decision, and Sandy shouted, “Fixed! I demand a recount; I want an independent, second opinion.”
“OK,” added someone, “You’re ugly too”. The audience laughed. Sandy bowed.
With the Renfrew Celebrity Plowing Match over, and no celebrities having been plowed, Sandy and Raggmopp said goodbye. Another CAPT TV baseball cap was handed out to Frances; they waved goodbye to Eric and headed off.
About 15 kilometres down the road, Sandy turned on the radio. The CBC national news had a story about the loss of timber in a series of forest fires. The anchor said that a report was released on the devastating British Columbia forest fires, “prepared by Gary Philman”.
“So they know who set the fires!” said Raggmopp. “All those trees gone. The Douglas Fir, The Larch, Birch…”
“The table,” exclaimed Sandy as he checked the rear view mirror. “We forgot to pick up the birch and stone table.”
Posted by Gary MacDonell at 02:04 PM | Comments (0)