My editor called me on a Tuesday. He said, Rosemary, we need someone to cover a sunflower competition in Twelve Palms, Florida. I said I was in the middle of something. He said that was fine and that I should leave Thursday.
This is how I came to be assigned to Twelve Palms, Florida, to cover what my editor described as "a family sunflower competition with significant narrative potential." I have been covering food, agriculture, and competitive horticulture for eleven years. I have seen significant narrative potential before. Sometimes it is correct.
The competition is called the Sunflower Showdown. It is Season One. There are five growers, twelve plants, three judges, and a draft day scheduled for May 10. I will be there for the draft. I will be there for the season.
I am told the family is committed to the bit, which is, in my experience, the most important factor in whether a competition produces good stories.
Let me tell you what I know so far.
There are five growers. I have their names, but I have not yet met them in person. Woody is the commissioner, which means he set this up and will spend the season pretending he has not given himself an unfair advantage. This is standard for family competitions, and I do not hold it against him.
Willow, Hazel, Reed, and Maple are the other four. Each has a team name. I find team names in family competitions to be a reliable indicator of how seriously someone is taking things. Teams named after accounting references suggest a different competitor than teams named after meal sizes. I will be watching.
The judges are Betty, Bobby, and Anton. I have read their preseason rankings. They disagree about meatloaf in ways that suggest the season will be interesting. Anton is correct about meatloaf. I will not be sharing this opinion publicly until after the competition.
The sunflowers are divided into twelve pods. Each grower will draft their plants from a pool of varieties that, I am told, have been pre-ranked by the judges on a food-themed scale that I do not fully understand. I have been assured it will make sense when I arrive.
Draft day is May 10. I have packed for Florida. I have my notebooks. I have my recorder. I have, at my editor's insistence, read the full rulebook, which is more detailed than I expected and contains a section on sunflower disqualification criteria that I intend to ask about in person.
I did not ask to cover this competition.
I am, at this point, quietly glad I was assigned to it.
That is not something I will be telling my editor.