Monthly Archives: August 2010

Let’s go antiquing this weekend

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Looking for something to do this weekend? The Lakewood 400 Antiques Market, always the third weekend of the month, is this weekend. It’s located just off of Georgia Highway 400, a mile north of Exit 13 on Georgia Highway 9.

Those familiar with Lakewood recall its former location just south of downtown Atlanta. While the new location is certainly convenient (about five miles from my house), and offers the comfort of shopping in one contained, air-conditioned building, it has lost a bit of its adventure since moving north. Don’t get me wrong, there are still plenty of dealers. Just not as many as there were before. And I miss that one building that was just full of odds and ends – everything from doorknobs, to porch columns, to old doors. A real junk store. It was my favorite part of the whole campus.

Oh, well. Guess I’ll have to stick to the more genteel location.

A really old iPod

The last time I was there, I overheard a teen ask her mom “What’s that?” as she pointed to grand jukebox. The mom’s reply made me chuckle: “That’s a really old iPod.” You never know what you’re going to see or hear.

I’m hoping the dealer with the old Christmas tree candle holders will be back this weekend. I think they’d be great to put on my tree this year to hold photos from Christmas’ past. If you happen to see any, shoot me a DM on Twitter: @carolpipes.

Happy junking!

Time catches up with 127 yard sale

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It seems the Highway 127 Corridor Sale is not just for the casual junker or avid antique shopper. Time magazine found a gold mine of American nostalgia along Route 127. Check out these photos from the “world’s longest yard sale” and pick up a copy of the Aug. 23 issue.

Strangers in paradise

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I’m still basking in the after-glow of the 127 yard sale. This big ol’ party was a gathering spot for strangers who share a love for antiques, junk and great deals. Isn’t it funny how a yard sale can turn strangers into a ragtag community? The camaraderie was contagious. Complete strangers shared memories over retro memorabilia, showed each other their purchases and gave recommendations on where to find a really good deal.

It was a couple of anonymous gents who helped push my car up a muddy incline. Of course, they may have had ulterior motives since they pulled into my parking spot as soon as I vacated it. But I’d like to think they’d have been just as helpful if they hadn’t need a place to park their truck.

At lunch, a crowded lunch spot—The Pig-n-Catch—necessitated sitting family style with other yard sale travelers. We sat with a couple from Wisconsin. What fun we had sharing our treasured finds over a shared plate of fried pickles. It was my idea for Mr. Wisconsin to order the pickles. He’d never heard of such a thing, if you can believe that. “Oh, you have to try the fried pickles,” I prodded. “You know, we fry everything down here.” He was hooked at the first bite.

Our lunch would have been humdrum if we hadn’t met our new friends. It’s amazing what you can learn about people over a plate of barbecue. Loving grandparents – he’s a novice guitar player and soon to be banjo picker; she a doll collector. We ran into them later on down the road and greeted one another like we’d known each other for years.

Obviously, we humans were not created for isolation, but instead for community. And it doesn’t take much to bring people together. Just a simple yard sale. I wonder if we’ll run into Mr. and Mrs. Wisconsin next year?

Yard Sale Heaven

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I spent most of the past weekend traversing a small section of the 127 yard sale. Not familiar? It’s 675 miles of junkin’ fun. Known as the “world’s longest yard sale,” it runs from Gadsden, Ala., to Hudson, Mich. It’s fabulous!

My gal-pal Tara and I set out Friday night, spending a fun evening in Chattanooga, Tenn.. Then Saturday it was all business. Making our way North on Hwy 127, we managed to cover about 30 miles of the yard sale in about 10 hours. Yep, that’s right, 10 hours. Needless to say we took our time, carefully picking through piles of dishes, linens, old jars, and whatnot.

Yeah, there was a lot of junk. But there was plenty of treasure, too. And there were lots of deals to be had if you kept your eyes open and weren’t in a hurry.

Before

After

The whole day was a lesson in self-control. I think I mentioned in my previous post that I’m obsessed with dishes. Well, that obsession is not necessarily considered endearing to my husband, as one might think. He’s given me a moratorium on dishes. If I buy another set, I have to get rid of one. I walked away from several dish sets on Saturday. The hardest to walk away from were a beautiful set of green depression glass and another fun set from the ’70s with colorful poppies. But I was strong. And my husband is relieved.

I did manage to score a fun set of canisters (not technically dishes) for $12.

My favorite find

I’d walked away from these earlier in the day, but I just couldn’t get them out of my head. On our way home, we stopped to see if they were still there. I held my breath as I walked back to the table where I’d seen them before. I tried to contain my joy as I nonchalantly asked how much the vendor wanted for them.

Sometimes it pays to walk away. I wound up getting them for less than half what the owner had originally asked. And they look just as I imagined they would in my apple green kitchen.

I also found a $5 tablecloth with the same colors as the canisters. Score! My other favorite find was a 1960s tan handbag in “mint” condition. I carried it to work today. Just call me Doris Day.

All in all, it was a near-perfect day ( to be explained in a later post).

My friend and I are already making plans for next year’s sale. Kentucky, here we come!

Junkin’ memories

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IMG_3317I first heard the word junking (pronounced junkin’) from my grandmother Spurlin. She used it interchangeably with antiquing. Both terms meant rummaging through someone else’s stuff looking for that perfect, priceless treasure.

I remember spending summers—a week here or there—with “Grommy” and “Pa Pa.” Grommy would get a hankering to go junkin’. So we’d pile into their big LTD Ford and hit every antique store, junk shop, and random barn in Floyd County, Georgia. My grandmother was a pro. She knew the “good stuff” from the true junk. And she knew how to bargain for a better deal. Although, she wasn’t above paying full price for junk if it gave her or her granddaughter the slightest bit of pleasure.

I was a quiet kid with an active imagination and a penchant for entertaining myself. While most 10-year-olds would rather be playing outside with friends, I was quite content picking through faded photographs, time-worn linens, dainty handkerchiefs, and whatever else our search uncovered. I loved it.

When I stepped into an antique shop, it was like stepping into a storybook. Decades-old dust floating in the air looked like a fairy mist when the sunlight hit it just right. The smell of must added a spooky thrill. I tried to imagine where each piece of furniture had come from. I played with forgotten toys and dolls and donned every hat and glove. I crept through crowded aisles and opened drawers with the care of a surgeon, hoping for hidden treasures.

But these junkin’ trips weren’t just entertainment. They were educational. There’s a history lesson in every piece of old furniture and photo album. Geography, too. Grommy also took great care to teach me about antiques. The ins-and-outs of style, wood, and workmanship. And she taught me to appreciate things that are old and gently worn.

It’s been a couple of decades since I went junkin’ with my grandmother. But her influence can be found in almost every corner of my home.