Best in Show

Under the blazing Delaware sun, families in tank tops and Crocs meandered through the fairgrounds clutching Cheeto-dusted corn dogs and fried Oreos—while I, a man on a mission with a fern in a vase, was weaving through them in my air-conditioned car, looking wildly out of place.

I was fairly certain I shouldn’t be driving through the heart of the fair, dodging strollers, scooters, and goat-wrangling farm kids. But three different parking attendants had given me three conflicting sets of directions to the exhibitor lot, and time was running out to drop off my entry in the “Best Fern Frond Contest”—one of 25 specimen categories in this year’s Delaware State Fair flower competition in Harrington.

“Dude, just drive right up to the front door,” said one sunburned attendant with a badge and enough facial piercings to set off an airport scanner. He seemed semi-official, so I did as instructed. A tight corner turn—nearly clipping a French fry stand—and there it was: the Dover Building. I pulled up, grabbed the glass vase cradling my carefully selected frond, and hustled inside.

At the contest check-in table, an officious older woman looked at her watch and gave a tiny nod of approval. “Never seen one like this,” she said, gently handling my entry and jotting something on a clipboard.

The cutting I’d entered came from a soft shield fern, an evergreen native to southern Europe. Its dark green fronds are tropical in appearance but hardy enough for Delaware winters. Each one has a central stem covered in a mat of soft, reddish-brown hairs—a striking, almost seductive contrast to the bright green leaflets. It’s quite butch, for a fern.

I asked whether there were many flower entries from Rehoboth Beach.

“Nope,” she replied without looking up, her tone somewhere between amused and unimpressed.

Don’t laugh, but I agonized for days over whether to go butch or femme. My Japanese Autumn Fern had a dainty beauty that whispered refinement, but in the end I went bold. At the urging of several friends, I rolled up my sleeves and cut the biggest, hairiest, most virile frond in my collection.

Some (most?) of you are probably wondering what on Earth compelled me to enter a fern competition at the State Fair. I’m not a committed pteridophile. In fact, I’ve never bought a fern in my life. Every single specimen in my garden was rescued from demolished homes and clear-cut lots around town. I entered because I’ve come to appreciate the state fair, a celebration of Delaware’s agricultural heritage. I especially like the old-timey flower, fruit, and vegetable competitions. You half expect to see Aunt Bee and Clara standing around judging pies and tut-tutting over roses. (Older readers—*ahem*—will understand this reference.) And yes, I’ve always been curious how I stack up against other Delaware gardeners.

Strolling through the exhibition hall, I noticed certain contests were clearly more popular than others. Dahlias and marigolds ruled the flower tables, while peaches, tomatoes, and watermelons dominated the fruit and vegetable divisions. There were pumpkins too, which puzzled me—it’s July, right? But the fern table was well stocked, and I was pleased with my chances. All the other entries looked like slight variations on the same femme frond. Mine stood out. It had presence. Swagger, even.

I didn’t stick around for the judging. My car was illegally parked, and I had a cocktail engagement back in Rehoboth. As I cruised past the funnel cake trailers and goat pens, I could feel victory in my bones. It might have been sciatica. But still, if I didn’t win, I’d probably just claim I did—because obviously, the election—sorry, the competition—was rigged.

Fortunately, I didn’t have to compromise my morals. The judges awarded my fern frond the blue ribbon. Perfect fives in each category: uniformity, color, condition, and maturity. I even earned the fancy rosette for Judges’ Choice, best specimen in the entire cut flower category! But between you and me, I’m not exactly sure a fern is a flower…

A week later I returned to the fairgrounds to pick up my fern and ribbons. I drove out of the fairgrounds triumphantly, ribbons fluttering on the passenger seat, my now-wilted fern frond laid out like a war hero. It had served its purpose. Next year, who knows—maybe a petite painted fern? Or the femme Japanese Autumn fern? Whatever it is, I’ll be back. Possibly illegally parked, probably overdressed, and definitely gunning for another blue ribbon in a category no one else from Rehoboth dares to enter.

Update August 2025. The author missed the 2025 cut flower sign up deadline by 1 day, so alas he was unable to enter. No exception made for a former winner…