The psychology of judging 4-H projects

Hidden treasure in New Mexico: Surrounded by hundreds of miles of desert, Benito Flores stands atop the Valley of Fires, an ancient lava field teeming with life.

Entering items in the fair has been an annual tradition for hundreds of years, and promises to be a staple for years yet to come. For many, there is nothing better than showing up with fingers crossed and finding that your pickled tomatoes or freaky artwork — that one piece that defies description but that you had  to enter — got a blue ribbon.

But yet the judging process is strangely opaque, even to the few people who read the fine print in the PDF where it explains the 4-H judging philosophy: The Danish system is used, in which “exhibits are judged against a standard of workmanship or accomplishments for age and experience and not against each other.”

This, while perfectly correct, means nothing to the average viewer, and, worse, fails to encompass what it means to judge artwork, vegetables, or anything else at fairs. I never understood why so many people could — or should — earn blue ribbons until I trained to become a fair judge myself. Training allowed me to see the ultimate goals, which lend themselves to a better statement of the fair philosophy, the three Es: Enthusiasm, Effort, and Encouragement.

If I were judging woodworking, I might see the following hypothetical entrants: A 17-year-old boy — Jack — who brought in a nightstand and a 12-year-old girl — Jill — who made a birdhouse, with both showing minor flaws. The nightstand has been properly sanded and stained, but already shows evidence of scratches, the stain is unevenly applied across the whole stand — the underside has been neglected — and the corners aren’t perfectly straight; the birdhouse is sanded, stained, and finished properly, has every corner perfectly straight, and is only slightly diminished by the hammer marks still visible around some of the nails, which are well hidden.

Without understanding the 3Es philosophy, I might be inclined to give the younger girl a blue, and a red to the much older boy, but, in the end, those ribbons will be reversed, with Jill getting a red, and Jack getting a blue. The 4-H philosophy is “make the best better,” and that means judging based on the enthusiasm and effort put into the project by the entrant. While speaking with the entrants, I am supposed to ask questions to determine those things, and I did.

Jack made the nightstand for Mother’s Day, but, a complete novice, he didn’t realize how long the project would take, and had to give her a card and a smile instead. His enthusiasm for the project didn’t wane, however, once he realized how much work he was really in for.

After two months of work, probably more than the project merited, he pronounced it finished, and entered it in the fair two weeks later. He’d learned how to do it from websites he’d accessed from the library, and the inexperience shows — he didn’t realize he had to apply finish to the nightstand in addition to the stain.

From our conversation, I know that he has never entered the fair before, but was encouraged to by a friend who saw the project; that he has never done any woodworking before; and that he is visibly glowing with pride in his accomplishment.

For a first-time effort, his work was admirable, and the only faults he had were overreaching — I’d have suggested he try a simpler project than a nightstand with two drawers for a first effort — and not reading carefully enough.

The first two Es are met, and the last one is my responsibility: I give him a few tips on using the proper tools, on using finish, and I make sure to give credit where it’s due. I send him away with a blue ribbon and a message of encouragement. “Great work, I hope you continue to woodwork, and remember that asking people who have experience is always a good thing. You have a real talent, and I hope to see you again next year.”

Now on to Jill. She has entered the fair every year since she was 4, and has grown accustomed to displaying her blue ribbons on her mother’s mantle every year. Her father owns a store that sells handmade wooden furniture and trinkets, carved or crafted by a member of the family, and he began to teach her how to work with wood when she was very young.

She stands there with her hands in her pockets, hunched over, answering the questions with an I-can’t-believe-my-mom-made-me-do-this attitude, because she’s bored with the fair — selling her work in her father’s store is far more profitable than the few dollars that comes with her award, and the fair has, in her eyes, become the lame place where she used to display her work.

The birdhouse is perfect, but the hammer marks betray her haste and lack of enthusiasm for the activity, and the work is far below her skill level, despite her age. Having done this for several years, I have seen Jill here before, and I remember her work. She is far more skilled than most 12-year-olds, and two years ago I saw a birdhouse just like this one that was intricate, just as perfectly formed, and was generally a superior version.

She didn’t put her best effort into crafting this, she is not enthusiastic, and the best thing I can do to encourage her is to show her that the fair isn’t for babies — praising mediocre work won’t help her grow as a person, nor will it develop her skill.

I give her a red, explaining why and saying that I know she can do better. It makes her mad, but now she’ll be back next year, with a project that’ll blow this birdhouse out of the water — 12-year-old girls like to get even, and they like to get blue ribbons.

When I begin the judging process, I intend to give each exhibitor the glow of satisfaction in a job well done that I got as a kid entering decorated cupcakes — they were bloodshot eyeballs — or the gentle reminder that you can do better, and you should take more risk, because it isn’t about being perfect.

The 3Es philosophy is not about praising the best creation; it’s about being fair: giving each entrant what he or she deserves or needs based on personal criteria. It isn’t about being meritorious; it’s about pushing a shy kid or nervous adult to pursue a new hobby or continue with it, to get better, and, ultimately, to come back next year.

Editor’s note: Benito Charles Prout Flores, 16, of Greene County, has been a member of 4-H since he was 9.

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