Given a free hour or so on a weekend, I enjoy heading out to find something.
Where to go? Flea markets, antique malls, thrift stores, estate and surplus sales. Occasionally a garage sale.
Once a month, or so, I’ll say “I’m off to look for vintage tins/globes/recipe boxes.” My family hears “Blah, blah, blah, old stuff, blah, blah, bye.”
Antique stores are often in historic schools or halls. Split-level and overstuffed homes are common for sales. But equally common are estate sales in craftsman or lakeside homes. Regional funky flea markets pop up semi-annually in city streets. And they know this, but “Please let me come too” is just not the first thing that pops into their heads.
However this weekend, my family’s prediction was accurate. I did go shopping near, but not in, the trash. The house/office was located within a recycling center. I felt a little trepidation meandering past tall columns into a potential cardboard maze. Hmmm. What the heck. It was a bright sunny day. Carpe Deal-em.
And there were some fine finds. Many things were consistent with the setting: shelves of tools, wood & metal remnants, boxes of pop bottles. Stacks of formerly white, now gray-green plastic yard furniture. I picked up a mod square metal thing-y, and some old bottles. (Spotted the match for one later (OK, it was clean) at an antique store for $15. My muddy one was 95% less.) A few more items including a saltware crock, a dove-tailed wooden recipe box, and a depression glass plate. Plus three lidded china soup bowls with 22 carat trim. Six delicate pieces with no cracks or chips, all found in different locations. Not bad for the junk yard.
I had to chuckle, I was shopping where my family imagined.