You—yes, you—might be the next blue-ribbon winner.

Almost every summer, I’ve made my way to a local county fair, starting when I was a kid growing up near Lancaster County, the undisputed center of Pennsylvania’s agricultural heart, and now in New York’s fertile Hudson Valley. I wander the flower and vegetable tables like it's a spectator sport, rooting for the entries I would have picked. I patrol the displays, eyeing a trio of flawless shasta daisies, cheerfully beaming their sunshine, not a petal out of place. I’ve been known to literally clap my hands for a true stunner of a specimen.

But here’s the oddity: Why has it never once occurred to me to enter? I am, indeed, a constant gardener — vegetables, fruit, flowers, more square footage than any one household needs, according to my husband, who is not wrong. I document my gardens. I brag about them. I deliver daily reports of what is doing well and what is struggling (much to said husband’s eternal boredom). But somehow "enter local horticulture competition” remained, for me, something other people do: the serious growers, the ag families, the people who presumably know a dahlia's proper cultivar name instead of just “the spiky one that looks like a Muppet.”

Which is, it turns out, nonsense. You could enter. I could enter. We should — both of us.

I pumped a few judges about how to cultivate something ribbon-worthy. Allow me to download the details so we all have a level playing field.

Judi DeRario is a county-fair stalwart who runs the cut-flower competition at New York's Dutchess County Fair, which has been going, in one form or another, since 1842. She shared that these competitions are meant to be flexible, since there’s so much that gardeners can’t control (weather, bugs, the list is long). 

For most fairs, you can enter up to two days before the show opens, and if your dahlia doesn't hold up or you change your mind about which color blossom to bring, the superintendents will usually happily let you switch. “We want to encourage people to participate," DeRario said.

Know and follow the rules, says Bonnie Austin, who has run the horticulture competition at California's Humboldt County Fair (which debuted in 1861) for years. 

Does the fairbook call for one specimen or three? Are they all supposed to be the same color? Do they want leaves trimmed? Definitely deliver the exact height requested (otherwise, you’ll be disqualified before a judge ever sees your entry). At Humboldt, “You want them all to look exactly the same,” Austin says. “That’s the big trick,” getting them to shine together.

Judges look for flowers that appear well-cared-for and well-fed. Perfection may be programmed into nature, sure, but plant food is the superboost that ensures flower heads are as big and vibrant as they can be. And don’t forget to inspect your beauties carefully before entering. Avoid visible bug damage (no matter how small), and remove any bruised or nibbled leaves and petals that could tank your blue-ribbon dreams.

Austin shares a surprising tip, passed down from a perennial Humboldt winner (Gene Godhino, we see you): Cut flowers that are about three-quarters open at a sharp angle on show day in the early morning, and then put them straight into very warm water. It sounds like it should wilt them, but Godhino says they'll open up beautifully for show time — and then hold their beauty for four or five days instead of two or three. The explanation? The warm water removes air bubbles from the stem, allowing the flowers to take a big, hearty drink that sustains them.

Lastly, give your blossoms the cold shoulder. Put them somewhere cool and dark and let them chillax before showtime. With that little bit of beauty rest, they’ll be ready to meet the judges — and (fingers crossed) earn you that blue ribbon. That is, unless I snag it.