Five kids in the family meant a lot of show animals, so getting the hogs to the fair was an experience in itself. One year, one of our boars jumped out of the truck on the I-94 interstate through Detroit. Amazingly, he was unharmed, and we were able to get him in a trailer for the trip home. Maybe he just wanted to experience Motown on his own.

After arriving at the fairgrounds and finding adequate pens, we took it easy for awhile. We located everyone's show box and picked a place for our endless card games. Innumerable hours were spent just watching the people from downtown Detroit and their colorful reactions to the hog barn.

We decided from which rafter to string the fake spider for the greatest effect. My heart took a nostalgic leap when my daughter did the same thing with friends at the Iowa State Fair when she was young.

We usually made a swing through the midway to try out the newest, wildest, fastest rides. That's probably why I can barely get on a seesaw or swing now without suffering motion sickness.

All frivolity ended the afternoon before show day. With our arsenal of soap, brushes, hoses and old clothes, we scrubbed pigs into the wee morning hours. Exhausted, with pink and wrinkled hands and feet, we'd stumble to the dorm for a few hours of sleep.

Chores were done early on show day so we could freshen the pens and powder the pigs. Some of you will remember the days with white pigs were showered with talcum powder and black pigs were given a generous coating of oil so they’d glisten in the sun. The white pigs left a trailing cloud of powder as they streaked from their pens to the show ring, and if you rubbed up against one of those black pigs, you’d have the throw away the pants.

Competition was fierce (especially among family members) as we worked intently to drive our animals near the judge to ensure his appraisal. There was no better feeling than having the judge nod your way, point a finger toward pen No. 1. No doubt that's where my competitive nature was honed.

Sometimes our efforts would be rewarded with blue ribbons and banners, but it was the joy of competing that we appreciated, and knowing we'd accomplished something important.

After working hard all summer, the fairs were the culminating reward. We proved we could be trusted and carry out given responsibilities.

We weren't angels, though. My parents were slightly shocked to see their 13-year-old daughter featured on the eleven o'clock news for winning the hog-calling contest. Fortunately, it was all in good fun, and I really wanted that $25 prize – a lot of money back then.

The fairs had another purpose. They made us thankful for being farmers and served as a showcase for agriculture. When I was 10, Grandpa McCalla smiled and pressed a dollar bill into my hand after my first blue ribbon at the state fair. He was proud and I was beaming.

It's gratifying to see individuals display the fruits of their labor and glow at the resulting purple ribbon. That feeling of accomplishment, passed from one generation to the next, is one of the things that makes farming great.