I’m not a nut case. Well, maybe a Valencia peanut case.
I proudly admit I was born and raised in Portales, despite the fact that I didn’t taste a peanut butter milkshake until only a few years ago.
I’ve spent my entire life here in Goober Gulch, if you don’t count the two years I lived in Abilene and the semester I taught in Houston. Oh yeah, there was also that five years, from 1995 to 2000, that I was in Hobbs; technically part of our state, but often referred to as “Little Texas.”
So why am I going nuts? Well, this weekend is the annual Peanut Valley Festival, that time of year when people who haven’t been to Wal-Mart, read junk mail or catalogs or watched TV get a rude awakening that Christmas is less than two-and-a-half months away.
At the festival, walls are filled with arts and crafts, gifts and food booths. There’s usually a few nuts around, too.
Growing up, Grandma Emma worked at Borden peanuts on a seasonal basis and brought home huge bags of peanuts which my sister Becky, Uncle Paul and I spent hours unshelling and eating. When Becky lived in Alabama, nothing made her feel more at home than when mom sent a huge sack of Portales peanuts every Christmas