Sunday, May 27, 2012

The Big Show - part II

After the grooming was done, I moved my iris to the display table - the card was filled out and I still had 13 minutes to spare before the deadline for entry closed.  No problems, everything was going along smoothly and my Caesar's Brother was sitting in the Siberian section ready to be judged.

I closed up my grooming kit and went to take a look at the rest of "the competition".  The tables were getting full with all types of irises.

The bearded iris were most impressive with their tall stalks and ruffles.  The shades of blues went from dark navy to the lightest sky blue possible.  Each flower was perky and looking its' best.

I spent a few minutes chatting with the president of the club.  He had emphasized at our last meeting that you could be disqualified if you were missing even a "." in the name of the iris.  Did it matter if I used the American spelling for Caesar's Brother?  He suggested I look it up.  9 minutes.

The iris registration reference books had Caesar's Brother listed, but there was no registration after the name, it referred me to Caezars Brother - and Caezars Brother did have the registration information listed.  I needed to change my card!  4 minutes.

I rushed back to the table, pulled my card, got a new card and went to fill it out - no pen! Wait! Got the pen from my grooming kit and filled out the card.  Siberian Iris Caezars Brother.  Z, not S and no apostrophe.  Okay.  Good to go. 2 minutes.

I looked over at the president's iris.  Stunning, gorgeous...siberian.  My little Bob didn't have a chance.  I quickly scanned the categories....dwarf - nope, miniature - no way, bulbous - I don't remember what that even is!  Historic - maybe Bob has a chance.  It's a 1932 registered iris and the cutoff for historic is...1983.  I rushed back to the table, grabbed my card, swapped out the section to historic and placed Bob over in that category.  Time's up - let the game begin!

The judges went through each and every flower, peering intently at every single leaf, petal and scathe.  They were very detailed and extremely knowledgable about - well, about everything that had anything to do with irises.  Each flower was first judged against the standard - was it what the registration said it should be?  And everyone that qualified was awarded a ribbon.  Pink - thank you for coming. White - it  was a bit messy.  Red - it could have been groomed better.  Blue - perfection!

Bob won blue!  He moves on to the next judging phase - rosettes.

All of the blues were gathered together for each section.  Sure, they were all perfect in their own right, but which one was the most perfect.  No pink, white or red here - just "you are" or "you aren't".

Bob won the rosette!  (Seriously? Yes, seriously.)  He moves on to the next judging phase - best in show.

All of the rosettes were gathered together.  The judges conferred, they peered some more, they conferred even longer.

The bearded, 'Going Home' won Queen of the Show - 1st place.  It's okay though - she's a bearded, they're flashy and tough to beat.  The judges narrowed it down to 2 - my Bob, a siberian historic and the club president's siberian.  There was no way Bob could beat her.

1st runner up - 'Sugar Rush' and she sure was a sweet little siberian.  Well done!

That meant that Bob was 2nd runner up!  He placed 3rd in show!! I was stunned.

Bob looked a little knocked off his axis as well.  Great job, Bob!  Even though you had to suffer the indignities of a sponge bath in public, you pulled through and brought home the prize.

So there they are - the winners of the 16th Annual Iris Show in all of their beribboned glory.

Of course, just like a flowers bloom, glory is fleeting as well.  Before we knew it, it was time to pack up and head on home - back to our bucolic manor.

We passed out Bob II and Bob III to folks stopping by to see the show, but I held on to Bob I so I could show him to my DH.

Back in the crate and off we went - me knowing a lot more about irises than I ever knew before, and Bob?

I think he was happy to just be outside again.  He's not used to air conditioning - and I think the muzak music was starting to get to him.

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