Garage Sale Finds

Last Saturday Mark and I, with Starbuck's coffee and the newspaper classified section in hand, spent a glorious summer morning tromping to garage sales in Enid.

Before long we found ourselves on a street that Marks knew well. When he was a kid, it was empty land near his house. The kids in the neighborhood called it "the woods" because of the trees that followed a small creekbed (in the Oklahoma prairie, a few trees constitute a forest in the eyes of native children!). Mark was able to tell the homeowner that her house stood right in the middle of the old poison ivy patch! The lady was quite pleased to know that her property was much improved from it's previous, itchy state. Mark was kind of glad to walk away NOT itching!

Next was a sale with lots of old farm equipment. As I perused a table of items, I picked up a long contraption primitively made of old wood and tin and asked Mark, is this a seed planter? Before Mark could answer, a gravelly voice beside me said, "It's a corn planter."

"I thought you might know" I said, when I looked up to see an old farmer in overalls and a plaid shirt beside me. He took the implement from me and, with weathered hands and a stooped back, demonstrated for me with practiced movements the way the corn planter worked. "You seem to know a lot about that," I said. "I SURE DO! I've planted a lot of corn with one of these!" he replied, still demonstrating, clearing reminiscing on his long-ago childhood. He seemed quite annoyed that the metal seed canister on the side of the corn planter was missing it's lid. I left him to wander on among the other items for sale.

We bought an old bottle for Mark's collection and a burlap feedbag, just because, and, as we drove away, I saw in the rearview, a pair of old blue overalls, make their way across the street, in something between a lope and a hobble, to an old truck. In his hands, a couple of old horse bridles... and a corn planter. I was glad to see him take him memories home. I wonder if he'll plant some corn!

Later, while scanning the goods at another sale, I gray-haired woman in jeans and a chambray shirt over a white t-shirt stopped me and asked if I thought this shirt and that vest went together. I told her the horizontal lines in one and the vertical images in the other clashed a bit to my eye. Clearly more interested in talking than in whether the outfit really matched or not, she went on to tell me that her children were all grown, that her oldest son died of colon cancer, that she's 73, weights 114, and wears a size 5 shoe, that she "practically" raised a grandson, and a number of other details about her life. She was cute and spritely, clearly lonely, and maybe a half a sandwich short of a picnic, but she was sweet and generously shared herself and her story with me. Later on in the day, at another location, I saw her again. Again, she stopped me to ask for assistance (what time did the Salvation Army store close?), but I don't think she remembered me. Now I wish I'd asked her name. She will remain anonymous to me. But I'll remember her. Even if she doesn't remember me.

You never know what treasures you'll find at a garage sale!

Sometimes it's more the stories than the "stuff"!