A side-splitting, tear-jerking, dust-kicking, sunshine and whiskey-fueled fiesta, complete with technicolor mountain/meadow backdrop, your eight new favorite bands, and a few legends thrown in for good measure. All this at what feels like a bonfire slumber party, catered by Jesus Christ, at your best friend’s parents’ house out in the sticks.

As a friend so eloquently put it, "Pickathon ate my heart." I think I’ll come back again, forever.

Words by: Annie Wilkins