Pudding Contests and Camels

This was a strange weekend. I got sick again, because of the dreaded shift back to cold weather. But before I did that, I went off on some odd excursions. Where I live in Westen Massachusetts, there are interesting and sometimes downright strange events. The usual Harvest Festivals, a Cider Day, huge craft fairs abound. But none of those I've attended have struck me as so perfectly New Englandy as the Hawley Pudding Contest. I've been wanting to go for years, but it's never incredibly well-publicized and I always miss it. But this year, I made it, Sparky in tow. It was held at a small church. It began with a buffet ham and bean supper (it was really lunch, but we call every meal that takes place in a church a 'supper' in New England). Sparky was over the moon. He loves ham. I just skulked around, waiting for the pudding to appear. In my naivete, I thought it would be a decorous award announcement, and perhaps a pudding viewing and (I hoped) tasting. No such thing. This was an extravaganza of small town life. After the 'supper,' we were asked to enter the church proper, as the pudding contenders were readying to parade. And parade they did, carrying their dishes of sweet or savory pudding proudly before them. Some were in costume, as the pudding contest originated sometime in the late 1700's. There was song. There was a talk about vanilla. There was a pretty impressive performance from one of the judges, the culinary head honcho (and also an interpreter) from Plimoth Plantation, who described in an early New England accent, in early New Englandish costume, the event of the very first pudding making in the new colony. And there was a skit, depicting the original Hawley pudding contest, where the award went to the biggest, rather than the best pudding. Then and only then were the prizes awarded. And the prizes were GOOD, fancy skillets and Cuisinarts, and big piles of stuff for each pudding finalist. The pudding I was rooting for, a corn pudding made by my friend, Janice, came in third. The other pudding that sounded amazing, and I later discovered was, a rose geranium pudding, only got fifth. I think that pudding was robbed.
Then, after we were sated with peanut butter pudding and rum pudding and corn pudding but oddly no chocolate pudding, we headed out. Only to meet a very nice woman in the parking lot who commented on my lovely Border Collie, Charming, who I was walking a bit before the ride home. We talked about the puddings, and dogs, and childhoods, and it ended with her inviting us to come to her place the following day.
Her 'place' it turns out, is a huge fiber farm hanging off a hill looking North over to the Green Mountains. There were angora goats and llamas and Icelandic sheep and eight dogs and oddly, camels. With two humps. I forget what that means, but it was impressive. I was mesmerized by their huge round padding feet. And Jodi, who owns this animal oasis, is a poet, and a fine one. We talked for a long time, occassionally but mostly politely interrupted by her Tibetan 'grandson.' A few Tibetans live and work on the farm, helping with the animals and building stone walls.
After we bid her farewell, and wended our way through the hills still saturated with autumn color, we drove into the most spectacular blue and gray and golden sunset, and I thought, my god life is good when you can go about it so indeliberately, drifting from one interesting and unique thing to another.
So, I encourage you to find your own Pudding Contests and Camels. Seek out what seems offbeat and intriguing. Drive around looking for inspiration in color and sunsets and new people and oddity and kindness. Then write it, draw it, and know life is good.