duck-shaped pain

• Peach and beef burritos

• "Wipeout" played on the banjo

The day, unlike most days, began and ended with banjos. I got up early to go to yard sales. I didn't go to any, except for one, because I had a sudden epiphany: I have way too much stuff. With the arrival of my stuff from Oregon, my number of possessions doubled overnight, and that's not necessarily a good thing. I swore to myself this morning that I would place a moratorium on buying new stuff, a vow that has already been broken. Oh well.

So instead of going to yard sales, I went down to the bagel shop to get some breakfast. Dan the Banjo Guy, who I've written about before, was there, simultaneously playing and giving banjo lessons to some new guy I hadn't seen before. This morning's crowd seemed to be more banjo-receptive than most -- maybe it was because it was the weekend. There's something vaguely disreputable about banjos, something which people might be more receptive to on their day off.

When I get new shoes, I automatically start to notice how many other people around have shoes like them (same thing happens when I get a new car). So, this morning, I kept noticing how many other people around had Birks on. At any given moment, about half of the people at the bagel shop had a pair on, including me. Mine were the only black ones, which probably doesn't mean anything interesting. Not like this should be a surprise -- bagel shops and Birks tend to share the same demographic in these parts.

Today was the Palisade Peach Festival, so I made sure to go. I've actually never been to it before, despite my many years of residence here in the valley. Since this was an extra-special year for the peaches, I figured this would probably be the best year to go.

Unlike other festivals in the area, Peach Festival seems like it's not really intended for visitors and tourists from afar (although plenty of people do come to it) -- it feels more like a chance for Palisadians to take a day off and relax. There's no big entertainment or events (pancake breakfasts are not events), just peaches and peach eating and people sitting around talking.

There were plenty of booths, of course. The purist in me wished that they had limited the booths to local businesses, but there were no purists on the Peach Festival planning board. So, besides peach stands and food booths, there were the ubiquitous batik clothing booths, cheap jewelry booths and the like. Still, there was plenty to see.

Any sort of food that a peach could be made into was for sale: peach pie, peach ice cream, peach shakes, peach salsa, and eee...peach and beef burritoes (which I did not try). Plenty of other food around, too -- Navajo tacos, barbeque, turkey legs, etc.

I ended up eating something less typical, I guess, for your standard rural agriculture festival. There was a booth there, which I barely noticed, selling goat cheese. I love chevre, so I went over and tried some. I bought one of their box lunches, which consisted of a little box of herb chevre, some slices of crusty sourdough bread, and a bunch of grapes.

I sat down by a tree and ate my lunch. It was excellent -- if such a thing existed, I would nominate my box lunch for Lunch Of The Year. There should be such a thing, really. I also bought some of their jars of cheese, which are goat cheese, combined with herbs and olive oil, sealed in a jar. Yum.

I ran into my friend D., a photographer for our local rag. He tried to talk me into posing for a picture for the paper, where I would be covered in peaches. I declined, because that would mean everyone would know I was back in town.

I saw the founder of Save Palisade FruitLands at the Peach Festival, and I wanted to go over and tell him how I much I appreciate the work he's going in trying to save the peaches, but my cojones were strangely missing.

After that, my self-imposed ban on yard sales finally ended. I pulled up to one right as it ended -- and scored. I bought an acupuncture doll -- a little rubber naked guy marked with the correct needle insertion points all over him. For 50 cents, you can't beat that.

Later, I wanted to read, so I headed over to the horrible coffee shop, the only one that's open late, or at least this town's concept of late. I've had interesting experiences there before, and I just keep going back, because there's nowhere else to go.

Their live music usually sucks, but tonight was finally an exception. The Western Colorado Bluegrass Association was having their monthly get-together, and it was enjoyable to sit and listen (I did not, however, get any reading done). I've never seen it so packed there before: all middle-aged guys, farmers from out of town and me.

I don't know if there's only a limited amount of bluegrass songs out there, or that all bluegrass essentially sounds alike, but I recognized everything they played. To me, all bluegrass, or maybe just all music that involves banjos, sounds like the soundtrack to fleeing the law or robbing a 7-11. It's not real respectable, and therein lies its charm.

This weekend is the one where all the new students at the local college move into the dorms and begin life after high school. This particular coffee place is the closest one to the college, and is sometimes a popular hangout.