Capturing Beauty: Miss Pork Cuisine


The small Midwestern town where I was raised is idyllic in many ways. It has a city pool where I spent my boyhood summers swimming with my friends, a dignified sandstone courthouse at the intersection of Jefferson and Main, a single screen movie theatre that was built in the late 1920s, and an annual county fair known as the Pork Festival.

The Pork Festival is a nod to our roots. We are a farming community—producers of all manner of crops and livestock. For those who hail from my town, the Pork Festival is part of the rhythm of life. Every September the carnival pulls into town, the streets around the courthouse are blocked off, the tents go up, the vendors with their standard county-fair wares (mirrors frosted with AC/DC and Van Halen logos, nunchuks, and cheap stuffed animals) set up shop, and the entire town adopts the attitude that we are all taking a long weekend together.

My earliest memories of independence came from those times when my parents would let my brother and I break free from their watchful eye so we could roam the confines of the festival at night, riding the Scrambler and the Octopus, and buying survival knives and throwing stars with our allowance money.

For three days we lived on breaded tenderloin sandwiches, elephant ears, and lemon shake-ups. We were kings in a kingdom flowing with sugar and fried food.

The festival’s main event was the parade on Saturday. The best way to describe the Pork Festival parade (and the highest honor I think anyone can bestow on a parade) is to say that it was exactly what you probably imagine when you think of a small town’s big parade. Picture marching bands playing, majorettes twirling their batons, and politicians handing out candy. Smell the exhaust of the Shriners as they zip around like dare-devils on their mini-bikes and go-karts. Cover your ears as the fire trucks and police cruisers roll by at five miles per hour—sirens blaring and officers waving from behind their amber Ray Bans and mustaches. Wave at the smiling beauty pageant winner—Miss Pork Cuisine—as she glides past, perched up there on the trunk of the local dentist’s yellow Mustang convertible.

This year’s Molehill contains a poem (below) I wrote about the Pork Festival’s beauty pageant winner and her ride down Main Street as she waves in her satin sash that identifies her as one of our town’s most beautiful treasures. For the young, the beauty pageant represents a sort of rising to the top. But for the older folks, it is a reminder that physical beauty, as the wise king observed, is fleeting.

Whenever anyone attempts to capture beauty, they have embarked on an exercise in futility. And yet, we’ll never stop trying because there is something eternal that lurks deep inside us all that knows we were meant for beauty and not decay. So we keep to the work of naming beauty, even as it fades right in front of our eyes. And next year, we start the process all over again.

The poem below is not meant to poke fun at Miss Pork Cuisine (the festival committee has since changed the name.) Yes, I am amused by the irony that “Miss Pork Cuisine” was the name on the sash of our town’s beauty pageant winner, but that absurdity is a pretty terrific metaphor for the futility of trying to capture beauty.

I enter myself into all sorts of pageantry. There are certain beauties I want to be known for. The same is true of you. Sometimes in this life we win the prize we seek and are given a sash and a seat of honor for a time. It feels good to be prized. But the ride will eventually end. Beauty measured by comparison will inevitably be eclipsed by someone younger, better, or more congenial.

The older I get, the more I am okay with all that. I am coming to believe that the best seat in the parade is there on the sidewalk, watching, year after year, as the town grows and changes, and yet still manages to stay the same.



Miss Pork Cuisine
by Russ Ramsey, 2014
From The Molehill Volume 3


From my chair on the sidewalk in front of the bank,

I watch as this year’s Miss Pork Cuisine glides past

waving from her perch atop the trunk of the local dentist’s convertible.

The Shriners figure eight in choreographed glory behind her,

their miniature motorcycles like the train of her robe filling the parade route.


She is to this town what the car she sits upon is to the dentist,

an achievement in beauty and refinement,

a symbol of youth,

this year’s model,

one of the noticed few.


I wave back telling her to enjoy the ride.

The parade seems to be moving slowly,

but it will be over before she knows it.

There will be another next year

but it will not belong to her.




Russ Ramsey is the pastor of Christ Presbyterian Church Cool Springs in Nashville, Tennessee, where he lives with his wife and four children. He grew up in the fields of Indiana and studied at Taylor University and Covenant Theological Seminary (MDiv, ThM). Russ is the author of the Retelling the Story Series (IVP, 2018) and Struck: One Christian’s Reflections on Encountering Death (IVP, 2017).


  1. Shannon Boyd

    This piece takes me back to sweet places in my own life. And I had forgotten about the AC/DC frosted mirrors. Fading glories and the contentment that can come with the fade, yes.

  2. Jennifer B.

    I love the picture of the Shriners making up the train of her robe.

    I really relate to the last two paragraphs of your post. I’ve been learning that same lesson the last few years and I’m growing more comfortable with my spot on the sidewalk. Good stuff! Thanks for sharing this.

  3. Annie Stevens

    I liked what you wrote; and that you captured your home town so well. I don’t know if you remember our daughters, Kellie & Julie, who went to Heartland Church for awhile when you did. Glad to know you and your family are doing well. Blessings. Annie Stevens

  4. gretchen bayer

    this is so absolutely…i don’t know…i stopped breathing for a moment.
    you’ve escorted me back in time and…paused me right in the place where i am today.
    the innocence…when i didn’t know what it was to care that i was created a girl and that i never going to be the prettiest.
    the knowledge…a woman with scars from heartbreak, a mind that struggles with being comfortable in her own skin.
    the release…God created me. THIS…all of me…i am as He intended.
    i am a beauty. i reflect beauty. i spread beauty.

  5. Shawn Legg LeSavvas

    Loved reminiscing through your writings. Though I now live in Los Angeles, I proudly announce my roots are in Tipton, IN. I have many fond memories of the Pork Festival and life back home in my little farming town. Thanks for sharing.

  6. Shannon B.

    This was so beautifully and accurately written. Tipton is home for me, and probably always will be. No matter how far away I’ve moved, I always end up coming back! The Pork Festival is my favorite time of year!!! Thank you for sharing your fond memories of it too 🙂

  7. Christina M

    I still arrange my September working schedule around those wonderful three days and now live across the street from the Tipton Library! It’s such a wonderful place to be when the Pork Fest arrives…the smell alone is unbelieveable! Sitting out on my Porch with my deco lights on and listening to the bands and sipping wine and eating Cabobs is just THE best night ever!!

  8. Adam Anderson

    Russ this takes me back to the days when you & I wore jean jackets & both had long hair … The good ol’ days… good read

  9. Stephanie Colson -Sharpe

    Wow Sean Atchley – me too!! I was that Miss Pork Cuisine in 1988 – seems like just yesterday & forever ago all at the same time!! Thanks Russ for the memories –

  10. Stephanie Colson -Sharpe

    Wow Sean Atchley – me too!! I was that Miss Pork Cuisine in 1988 – seems like just yesterday & forever ago all at the same time!! Thanks Russ for the memories –

    Best pork chops ever!!

  11. Scott Pearson

    I was listening to Eddie Money’s “I Want to Go Back” a few days ago and always get flooded with memories of Tipton County in the 80’s. A simpler time that I am thankful I got to experience. This article does the same. I smile thinking of the Pork Festival and the feathered hat clips, throwing darts at balloons for a Whitesnake mirror and oh those glorious pork chops. I agree with Sean Atchley, this article took me right back to Tipton.

  12. Rhonda Crabtree Giffin Harness

    My hometown, too…what a beautiful read…and exactly as I remember it. Thanks for the memories!

  13. Tamara Scheffler

    Wonderful article!! I still try to make it to Saturdays parade with my kids. Actually, in the above picture my son is in back of pork boys vehicle wearing the red t shirt and my oldest daughter is beside him. 🙂

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