Well, hand me my bonnet and call me Slewfoot Sue.

One fifth-grade class, as part of its study of California, held a Gold Rush day, re-enacting life in the mid-1800s. They donned their boots and hats, staked their claims, ate beans and even held a pie-baking contest. I was tapped to judge said pies. It may have been one of the toughest, yet tastiest jobs I’ve ever had.

I laughed, I cried, I went home happy. OK. I didn’t cry but I might have had I been there when one contestant came racing into school only to flip his pie right onto the ground. As luck would have it, they had baked a second. Mom raced home and snagged the second pie, saving the day. This diligent young’n had even picked his own raspberries, and won the prize for Most Original. Now that’s a plot worthy of “Little House on the Prairie.”

Meanwhile, I was faced with looking into too many sets of big, trusting, 10-year-old eyes and telling them their pie did not win. The planners had asked that I select winners in just three categories. That may work at the county fair where the judge doesn’t know every sweet, anxious face. It might also work if I had any backbone at all. Instead, I cajoled the powers that be into creating three additional prize categories. (They were pretty sympathetic, being moms and all.) There was simply too much good stuff.

After surveying and tasting the dozen entries, I still might have been there all day trying to make up my mind. I was game, but the kids were already hovering. I am grateful to a flexible event chairwoman who graciously printed up three more certificates on very short notice. I’d like to have given every youngster a ribbon, but I suppose learning to lose is an important life lesson, too.

Some of the pies were a bit wobbly and slightly dark around the edges — and completely adorable and certainly authentic. How perfect could a pie be made in a wood burning stove or maybe even over a campfire? Others were pretty slick, but not so slick you didn’t know a fifth-grader made it. I was impressed. There was raspberry, strawberry, peach, apple, blackberry, pumpkin and even sweet potato. I kept waiting for the pies that would taste like newspaper paste and sawdust to make the judging easier, but no deal. Even the homeliest among these were downright yummy, which is all I ever really require of a pie. I was forced to nibble each two or three times to be absolutely unbiased and fair. I’m nothing if not thorough when it comes to tasting pies.

We awarded Most Appealing, Best Tasting and Most Creative Name (Berried Treasure). Then Most Original, Most Authentic and Fanciest. I really had a hard time picking the Best Tasting, but an apple crisp squeaked out as the champ. It was so good, it won in spite of the fact that I don’t particularly fancy apple pie.

All the contestants took the results with good attitudes and the pies were sliced. The young miners had been eyeballing them all morning and within minutes, there was scarcely a crumb to wipe up.

Now that I have my credentials in place, I’d like it known that I have my apron pressed and I’m available for judging most any variety of baked good on very short notice.