Nothing says "spring is here" like yard sales.

And not a moment too soon. Until I get rid of the piles of stuff in the doorway of the garage, I can't get to the bike, or the beach chairs, or the barbecue.

Soon I will offer my fine wares to the public. Like this book about Montana. Or this one-of-a-kind dining room chair. And people waiting on the curb since 7am (even though the sign says 9) will think it's time well spent when they feast their eyes on this exquisite dish drainer.

I've seen dumber things. Last year I was at a sale where I could buy a cracked Smurf mask, spraypainted black. It was a dollar, or free if I bought the water damaged pillows.

Yard sales give us all a chance to try out owning a small business: Select inventory. Advertise. Set prices. Negotiate with buyers. Fix the books. Run with the profits. Testify before congress. No wait, that's Enron.

Buying stuff post-9-11 is supposed to help revive the economy, but I'd rather buy directly from my neighbor than boost corporate earnings somewhere. Maybe they'll use the money to plant some nice flowers in front. It's win-win.

At yard sales I can't help but wonder why people sell what they do. I put on my detective's hat ($2.50 at a sale in Seabright area) and look for clues.

Are they selling a bunch of baby stuff? No more kids planned. Fax machine, 3 hole punch, and paper shredder? Failed home business. You don't have to be Sherlock Holmes to reach plausible conclusions: Just married. Joining the Peace Corps. Home brewing days are over. Got the inheritance. Admitting the weight gain is permanent. Band broke up.

Couples moving in together usually have a sale. Duplicate stuff has to go. Who's got the better toaster? A compromise must be struck regarding decor, so the commemorative bicentennial Scooby-Doo plates might find themselves on the market again. Another example of great stuff you won't find at Sears.

Some yard sales are really estate sales, where we learn more about the deceased than we have any business knowing. Imagine all your stuff for sale in one place. What would people think?

In Santa Cruz one of the best times to go yard sale-ing is the end of the UCSC school year. Students are on the move and travelling light, so it's a great time to pick up junk-chic eclectica like mannequin parts, traffic signals, and works from their sophomore class in oil painting.

Student furniture often comes with long, multi-house histories, such as comfy but orange couches that have taken part in the rise and fall of countless "this is really the one" relationships. They smell like pizza.

In affluent neighborhoods, you would think that pricing and selection would be good, but think again. I think some of them have been watching Antiques Road Show without their glasses. A Stanley handsaw from 1987 may be rusty, but it's not an antique. It's not even any good at sawing anymore.

Interpreting signage is key to successful shopping. We've all seen our friends and neighbors put up signs that practically guarantee the ruin of their sale: Tiny unreadable signs, black Sharpee on brown cardboard, with arrows pointing in the wrong direction. Kids with lemonade stands do a better job.

But no customers means more stuff at lower prices, so the worse the signage the better the odds I'll be there.

What I avoid are sales that have signs put up in a ten-mile radius after a three-month study of traffic patterns. Double-parked early risers will clean them out in an hour. By the time I get out of bed they'll be down to warped Chicago records and nearly complete jigsaw puzzles.

Sometimes people put their signs up high on poles, and then accidentally sell their ladder, leaving them unable to pull their signs back down. At least that's the only explanation I can think of. Why else would signs remain up after the sale is over?

Sometimes, after a couple weeks, I helpfully pull the signs down myself and stuff them into their mailbox. Technically this is a federal crime, but nobody will recognize me in my commando Smurf mask.