The Weight of a Small Town
The Weight of a Small Town
Every March, the Wattle Springs Show holds its Giant Pumpkin contest, and every March I promise myself I will not write about it. I have now broken that promise eleven years in a row.
For anyone new to town, the rules are simple. Whoever brings the heaviest pumpkin wins a blue ribbon, a voucher for the hardware shop and the right to be unbearable until the following March. The rules do not mention sleep, but most serious growers seem to have given it up by January.
This year's favourite was Mr Dimitri Pappas, who grows his pumpkins behind a shade cloth so tall that low-flying planes have reportedly changed course. Mr Pappas waters at dawn and at dusk, talks to the vines and refuses to say what he feeds them. When I asked, he looked at me as if I had asked for the combination to his safe.
His main rival was Mrs Joy Ngata, last year's champion, who claims to do "nothing special" and was seen buying four trailer-loads of manure in a single week.
On the day, the two pumpkins arrived on separate trailers, each covered by a blanket like a sleeping guest. A crowd of about two hundred people, many of whom do not own a vegetable garden, stood in the heat for forty minutes to watch a set of scales.
Mrs Ngata's pumpkin weighed 412 kilograms. Mr Pappas's weighed 409. He shook her hand at once, and then went to stand behind the cattle pavilion for some time, looking at nothing in particular.
It is easy to laugh at all this, and I have just spent several paragraphs doing so. But I watched the crowd lean forward when the numbers came up, and I watched Mrs Ngata, who has been growing pumpkins for thirty years, put both hands over her face. Not many things can make two hundred people hold their breath over a vegetable. I would not swap it for anything.
Mr Pappas has already ordered his seeds for next year. I have already started next year's column.
Worked explanation 1
Overall, the writer's attitude to the Giant Pumpkin contest is best described as
- AA.
- BB.
- CC.
neutral and purely factual
- DD.
amused but genuinely fond
Answer: D
Answer: D (amused but genuinely fond)
The writer jokes all the way through (planes changing course, the pumpkins under blankets 'like a sleeping guest'), so the tone is amused. But the writer also keeps coming back to it every year and says, 'I would not swap it for anything', which shows real fondness. The answer is D.
The trap: B tempts because the writer pokes fun at the growers. But the jokes are gentle, and the writer ends by praising what the contest means to the town.
Why the other options are wrong
- A (bored and impatient): Someone bored would not write about it eleven years in a row or start next year's column.
- B (scornful and unkind): The teasing is warm, and the writer ends with praise.
- C (neutral and purely factual): The jokes and the personal feelings mean it is not neutral.