Squares of early morning sunlight layered the asphalt like a patchwork quilt as I approached the Mid-Town Farmer’s Market. Fragments of guitar chords simmered on the thick summer air. Two little boys sitting in lawn chairs laughed gleefully through mouths full of food. And a very sleepy, somewhat disgruntled Carly Grace stood on the perimeter, clutching a sweaty red ribbon.
"Mornin’," she mumbled as I walked her way. I asked her about the ribbon she was holding, and she explained that she had won second place in the pie contest for her entry - an apple pecan pie. She had actually slept through the ceremony, in a chair several feet from where the culmination of the event took place. We walked towards the tent so I could try a bite of her confection, but the only evidence that it had ever existed was found on several faces, in the form of sticky sweet smears.
At first I thought that missing out on the presentation was the reason for her apparent irritation. But I could tell by her shifty demeanor and sidelong glances that there was more to this story. We sat down to talk.
Turns out Miss Grace won second place two years ago in the same contest!
"Actually I entered all three years," she said, before blowing her disheveled brown hair out of her eyes in a huff. "Last year I didn’t get shit."
Carly’s entry the summer of 2004 was a tomato pie. Friends praised the recipe, and her ingenuity, but she failed to equally impress the judges, and she was awarded her first runner up ribbon. Summer of ’05 dealt an even bigger blow.
"Last year, the 1st and 2nd place winners were both
tomato pies," she went on. "It just gets you thinking, you know. Is it me or them? I mean, really?"
She was making an impressive case, and I wanted to know more.
"How long have you been baking?" I cautiously inquired, loathe to upset her any further after so recent a defeat.
"How old am I?" She laughed, and then glanced around in confusion before answering, "Uh, ten years."
"What got you interested?"
"Well, I burnt myself severely during an early attempt, and I decided there and then to make that oven pay. And not just that oven. You know?"
I didn’t, but I nodded intently. Then I asked about the contest rules.
"There are rules, but I don't know them. Wait... there was something about meat pies. I definitely remember that. Meat pies being liked, or disliked, I think that was mentioned somewhere."
Mitchell Diggs from the Mid-Town Farmer's Market said the rules for the pie contest are as follows: “1. Contestant must supply recipe. 2. Pie has to include one locally grown ingredient. 3. Contestant must bake their own pie. 4. Meat pies not allowed.”
With Carly's amassed experience and knowledge of this competition, I had to agree that her inability to take home top honors was suspicious. Her close friend, Sommer Sneed, offered a possible theory.
"I've had a lot of pies in my life. A lot. My grandma's pies, my aunt's pies, but Carly's pies are good. Better than good. I think the reason Carly doesn't win is that she's too skinny. The judges see her and they think she doesn't have enough pie under her belt, so to speak."
Carly said she has no immediate plans for her comeback at next year's contest, but she promised there would be both a comeback, and a contest. As we parted ways, I could only offer her some advice that my Grandma may have given me when I was a child.
"If at first you don't succeed, make another damn pie and keep on truckin'."
The Mid-Town Farmer's Market offers an array of fruits, vegetables, and baked goods. The selections have all been either grown in Mississippi, or made with ingredients from Mississippi. Their hours are 7-11 a.m., Saturday mornings, and 2-6 p.m. Wednesdays. It's located on North Lamar, in the Mid-Town Shopping Center parking lot.
