Since the beginning of time, our grandmother has been an A+ yard sale-r. She knows where to go if you want to fill an industrial sized garbage bag full of clothes for a nickel. At our family cabin deep in the Maine woods, she has amassed an impressive collection of cast iron frying pans seasoned with dust, butter and the occasional mouse turd. Let me tell you, her silver dollar pancakes are exquisite. One time when El was in college, she told Gram to keep an eye out for a women’s road bike with curled handlebars. The next morning, there was a voicemail saying she had found a bike and was bringing it to campus and to have an appetite because Gram and Grampa were taking Ellen to Subway. I have a similar story where you swap out “bike” for “3-tiered hanging fruit basket.” The lady has resources.
This insatiable urge to yard sale is also in our genes so if you ever have some bric-a-brac you’d like us to wade through, just give us a jingle. I know a thing or two about glass bottles and Ellen is really into things like this:
As if their business name isn’t a dead giveaway, our friends Bryan and Hillary of Yardsale Press are also thrift seekers and we all just took a trip to Brimfield, MA together. Brimfield is the antique mother lode to end all mother lodes and B & H know how to navigate the fields like champions. Here are some highlights:
At a certain point during the day, the temperature hit 80 and things got a little dicey with Ellen’s behavior. We often do not do well with hot weather. She was acting like Gumby playing Dizzy Bat. The agreed-upon solution to cool her core body temperature was ice cream and it worked like a charm. That girl loves rainbow sprinkles.