I've logged many memorable miles and detoured deliberately to quite a few scenic overlooks with my rental car copilot and fleamarket co-conspirator by my side, often pulling over the moment I see Mari reaching for the camera.
Yes, we brake for photos.
On our way back to Chicago after a victorious season-opener over Rice last Labor Day weekend (don't ask me about the last half of the season), Mari had me pull over a few times. On this occasion, we had actually stopped for an unexpected yard sale (We brake for yard sales, too, of course.) and were just pulling away on one of my favorite back roads when this beautiful still life announced itself. I didn't need to be told to pull over. I didn't need to see Mari reaching for the camera. I didn't need a "scenic overlook" sign posted by the state of Michigan. Sometimes, you just know. With her vigilant pilot pulled off onto the shoulder, Mari walked a bit further ahead, crossed the quiet country road (US-12, just north of the Michigan state line), and snapped away. A favorite photograph.
In case you're wondering, and if you are reading a blog about fleamarket travels then you probably are, what about the yard sale? A very friendly Michiganite greeted us from under a huge shade tree on that sunny Sunday morning where he had set up two long rows of wooden tables displaying a variety of used indoor and outdoor household and farm objects. After a quick chat (we were just barely started on our trip to the airport after all) and a careful browse, Mari and I came away with two small (easily packable) treasures. A very clean, shiny stainless set of 6 demitasse spoons for all of a dollar fifty which we now fondly call our Michigan Spoons and a small white porcelain bell covered in green-painted shamrocks.
Okay, another detour. We'll never get back to Chicago at this rate (we had the same problem last Labor Day Sunday, too). I don't collect bells and I never (never say never) intended on collecting bells, but I kept finding them (yes, you're right, they kept finding me) in my browsing travels near and far from home. Every time I saw a bell at a thrift store or garage sale (usually priced at a dollar or less) over the years I would tell Mari that it might be fun to collect bells some day because there are so many out there, they are so inexpensive, and they are all so unique. I just didn't know what to do with them all and I didn't have a really good reason to collect them (Mari didn't think so many, so inexpensive, or so unique were good reasons).
The reason to begin collecting bells found me eventually when I found myself with two brand new EMPTY glass display cabinets in my school library. Empty display cabinets just begging for something to display! A librarian on a hunt, I gathered from my personal collections overflow objects I hoped would pique the interest of my young adult library patrons. Some overcrowded owls, my long-since-abandoned-early-retirement-plan Beanie Babies, and a few supplemental paperweights later and I was well on my way to filling one of the display cabinets. The empty glass shelf between the millefiori paperweights above and the velvety ursine brethren below was the only tintinnabulation this collector-with-a-great-idea-but-no-good-reason-for-starting-another-collection needed to resurrect my "some day" idea.
And so it did. From thrift stores, antique malls, and garage sales, the bells bells bells began to gather gather gather. I squeezed my Michigan bucolic yard sale shamrock (Go Irish!) bell into the front row upon my return to work, but there is still plenty of room and I keep adding more more more when I can can can. It's a fun little collection for patrons to browse and I've added laminated excerpts from Poe's poem for good scholarly measure.
The reason to begin collecting bells found me eventually when I found myself with two brand new EMPTY glass display cabinets in my school library. Empty display cabinets just begging for something to display! A librarian on a hunt, I gathered from my personal collections overflow objects I hoped would pique the interest of my young adult library patrons. Some overcrowded owls, my long-since-abandoned-early-retirement-plan Beanie Babies, and a few supplemental paperweights later and I was well on my way to filling one of the display cabinets. The empty glass shelf between the millefiori paperweights above and the velvety ursine brethren below was the only tintinnabulation this collector-with-a-great-idea-but-no-good-reason-for-starting-another-collection needed to resurrect my "some day" idea.
Let the bell collecting begin!
And so it did. From thrift stores, antique malls, and garage sales, the bells bells bells began to gather gather gather. I squeezed my Michigan bucolic yard sale shamrock (Go Irish!) bell into the front row upon my return to work, but there is still plenty of room and I keep adding more more more when I can can can. It's a fun little collection for patrons to browse and I've added laminated excerpts from Poe's poem for good scholarly measure.
Looking back at my time with you in Michiana (always loved that geographic mashup; doesn't quite work as well with any two other adjacent states) I now realize that I have been leading a sentimental journey. It has been a journey told via the past through the now-collectible (formerly-consumable) objects that inhabit our lives and homes (and workplaces). Isn't that what collecting is (or should be) all about? Take a moment and browse one of your collections. Try to remember the first piece you brought home. Which was your first owl? paperweight? pin? book? What is its story? There's a story. (There's always a story.) Even if it was a gift and you didn't pick it out, there's your story.
More stories from the big city (Chicago this time) next time.
More stories from the big city (Chicago this time) next time.
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