So we spent last Saturday morning in the rhubarb capital of the world. “Where the heck is that?” I hear you ask. Well, it’s in Pine, Colorado of course; or at least that’s what the townspeople claim. For one weekend a year at least, when this tiny hamlet on the banks of the Platte River gives itself over to a celebration of all things rhubarb.
Although I’ve been intrigued by the concept since I first saw an advert for it whilst house hunting, this is the first year we’ve made it to the Festival Like many other events, it was cancelled during our first year due to the fire danger and last year we had a prior commitment so had to give it a miss. Not this year though; we were up bright and early and down to Pine before the crowds.
This is in fact, the 17th annual Pine Rhubarb Festival, put on by the Pine-Elk Creek Improvement Association (PECIA), an organization that was apparently founded in the 20's and still active in the community. Proceeds from the event go towards community services, including road grading, dumpsters, maintenance of an historic community building, and the local volunteer fire department. It’s world famous – at least in these parts. With rhubarb pie bakeoffs, a duck race and of course a parade, which some years takes several minutes to complete, the festival is as pleasant a way as any of passing a summer’s morning. The highlight for us though, was the all you can eat breakfast provided by the fire department volunteers.
$7 got you a heaping plateful of pancakes, sausages, and potatoes all topped with a generous helping of rhubarb sauce. Dear Wife experienced a bit of a culture shock with that last bit; raised as she was on pancakes with maple syrup. Fortunately, that was available too. And all this was before you got to the desserts, fruit juices and coffee. There was no problem with you going back for seconds, in fact that was positively encouraged but truth be told, I was plenty full after the first round. We met a friend and his family while standing in line so we sat and ate with them, while catching up with the gossip.
Time to explore the vendors next and as Dear Wife was in tow, I firmly expected the bank balance to take a hit. To be fair, she restrained herself quite nicely and other than a rather overpriced T-shirt, didn’t really spend too much. Not that she was short of choice mark you; there were all manner of goodies on sale. From incense, to perfumes, wood carvings and antiques, to the inevitable jewelry, it was all here.
Dear Wife is something of a jewelryholic and despite owning more baubles than Liz Taylor is always on the lookout for more. So it was with some dismay I looked along the rows of jewelers hawking their wares. However, she appears to be devoting her energies into collecting ideas for her own fledgling jewelry making practice and seems to be quite content just looking at the pieces. Having dodged that bullet, I was more than happy to simply follow her around, stare vacantly at the things she showed me and grunt at what I hoped would be the appropriate moments.
Once we’d made our way along the rows of vendors, and back along the other side, we realized what should have been obvious all along. Despite its intriguing concept, the Pine Rhubarb Festival is rather, well, small. We’d eaten the breakfast, we’d checked out each vendor in way more detail than I’m usually prepared to devote to these things and it wasn’t yet 10am. The pie bakeoff wasn’t until 11:30 and the parade wouldn’t be held until after that. I still don’t know when the duck race happened; suffice to say it didn’t happen while we were there.
A friend who lives in nearby Buffalo Creek explained to me later, that the rhubarb festival is one of those things where the idea is better than the actual event itself. Mind you, this is the same friend who’s threatened to put her hair in a beehive, dress herself in rhubarb leaves and go as Rhubarbarella, so take from that what you will. She also told me of the Buffalo Creek tradition whereby it’s considered to be bad form to bake the rhubarb pie using ingredients from your own garden. There’s an unwritten rule, which dictates the rhubarb must be swiped from somebody else’s crop. Buffalo Creek’s even smaller than Pine and it’s reasonable to assume that should your rhubarb stock decline unexpectedly, you’ll know the bandit personally.
Now this was captivating enough in its own way, but it didn’t help us fill the morning. There was an endearingly cheesy jazz band, made up of high school aged kids, setting up on a flat bed trailer so we watched them for a while as they bashed around a number of classic standards, some of which were even recognizable. Eventually they were replaced with a couple singing folk rock type numbers who were actually pretty good. The day was beginning to warm up considerably and as I’d met a couple of friends by this time, including the one of Rhubarbarella fame who disappointingly, was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, Dear Wife took a seat to watch them while I wandered off and socialized.
Something else I learned during this conversation is that just prior to the commencement of the parade; the festival organizers appoint a Rhubarb King and Queen. Nothing out of the ordinary in that you might think, until I explain that gender has little to do with the title. The Rhubarb Queen has, on more than one occasion, been male. And you thought Pine was just a sleepy little backwater.
Anyway, having browsed along the vendors’ stalls once more and after checking out the vintage cars lined up for the parade, there was no escaping the fact that we’d done about all there was to do. We learned our lesson and while we’ll definitely be back next year, perhaps we won’t arrive quite so early. It was still a pleasant day out though and as we headed back up the hill we couldn’t help reflecting what a pretty place Pine would be in which to live.
We nearly did buy a house there, but decided it was just a little too close to the road for comfort. It’s worth remembering that if we had, I would have to come up with a different name for my Blog. “The State Route 126 Files” doesn’t have the same ring to it.
Although I’ve been intrigued by the concept since I first saw an advert for it whilst house hunting, this is the first year we’ve made it to the Festival Like many other events, it was cancelled during our first year due to the fire danger and last year we had a prior commitment so had to give it a miss. Not this year though; we were up bright and early and down to Pine before the crowds.
This is in fact, the 17th annual Pine Rhubarb Festival, put on by the Pine-Elk Creek Improvement Association (PECIA), an organization that was apparently founded in the 20's and still active in the community. Proceeds from the event go towards community services, including road grading, dumpsters, maintenance of an historic community building, and the local volunteer fire department. It’s world famous – at least in these parts. With rhubarb pie bakeoffs, a duck race and of course a parade, which some years takes several minutes to complete, the festival is as pleasant a way as any of passing a summer’s morning. The highlight for us though, was the all you can eat breakfast provided by the fire department volunteers.
$7 got you a heaping plateful of pancakes, sausages, and potatoes all topped with a generous helping of rhubarb sauce. Dear Wife experienced a bit of a culture shock with that last bit; raised as she was on pancakes with maple syrup. Fortunately, that was available too. And all this was before you got to the desserts, fruit juices and coffee. There was no problem with you going back for seconds, in fact that was positively encouraged but truth be told, I was plenty full after the first round. We met a friend and his family while standing in line so we sat and ate with them, while catching up with the gossip.
Time to explore the vendors next and as Dear Wife was in tow, I firmly expected the bank balance to take a hit. To be fair, she restrained herself quite nicely and other than a rather overpriced T-shirt, didn’t really spend too much. Not that she was short of choice mark you; there were all manner of goodies on sale. From incense, to perfumes, wood carvings and antiques, to the inevitable jewelry, it was all here.
Dear Wife is something of a jewelryholic and despite owning more baubles than Liz Taylor is always on the lookout for more. So it was with some dismay I looked along the rows of jewelers hawking their wares. However, she appears to be devoting her energies into collecting ideas for her own fledgling jewelry making practice and seems to be quite content just looking at the pieces. Having dodged that bullet, I was more than happy to simply follow her around, stare vacantly at the things she showed me and grunt at what I hoped would be the appropriate moments.
Once we’d made our way along the rows of vendors, and back along the other side, we realized what should have been obvious all along. Despite its intriguing concept, the Pine Rhubarb Festival is rather, well, small. We’d eaten the breakfast, we’d checked out each vendor in way more detail than I’m usually prepared to devote to these things and it wasn’t yet 10am. The pie bakeoff wasn’t until 11:30 and the parade wouldn’t be held until after that. I still don’t know when the duck race happened; suffice to say it didn’t happen while we were there.
A friend who lives in nearby Buffalo Creek explained to me later, that the rhubarb festival is one of those things where the idea is better than the actual event itself. Mind you, this is the same friend who’s threatened to put her hair in a beehive, dress herself in rhubarb leaves and go as Rhubarbarella, so take from that what you will. She also told me of the Buffalo Creek tradition whereby it’s considered to be bad form to bake the rhubarb pie using ingredients from your own garden. There’s an unwritten rule, which dictates the rhubarb must be swiped from somebody else’s crop. Buffalo Creek’s even smaller than Pine and it’s reasonable to assume that should your rhubarb stock decline unexpectedly, you’ll know the bandit personally.
Now this was captivating enough in its own way, but it didn’t help us fill the morning. There was an endearingly cheesy jazz band, made up of high school aged kids, setting up on a flat bed trailer so we watched them for a while as they bashed around a number of classic standards, some of which were even recognizable. Eventually they were replaced with a couple singing folk rock type numbers who were actually pretty good. The day was beginning to warm up considerably and as I’d met a couple of friends by this time, including the one of Rhubarbarella fame who disappointingly, was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, Dear Wife took a seat to watch them while I wandered off and socialized.
Something else I learned during this conversation is that just prior to the commencement of the parade; the festival organizers appoint a Rhubarb King and Queen. Nothing out of the ordinary in that you might think, until I explain that gender has little to do with the title. The Rhubarb Queen has, on more than one occasion, been male. And you thought Pine was just a sleepy little backwater.
Anyway, having browsed along the vendors’ stalls once more and after checking out the vintage cars lined up for the parade, there was no escaping the fact that we’d done about all there was to do. We learned our lesson and while we’ll definitely be back next year, perhaps we won’t arrive quite so early. It was still a pleasant day out though and as we headed back up the hill we couldn’t help reflecting what a pretty place Pine would be in which to live.
We nearly did buy a house there, but decided it was just a little too close to the road for comfort. It’s worth remembering that if we had, I would have to come up with a different name for my Blog. “The State Route 126 Files” doesn’t have the same ring to it.
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