Last weekend I mapped out several sales I wanted to check out on Friday and Saturday and they ran the gamut in terms of appeal. I live in Connecticut in a region dotted with quaint villages and incredibly scenic landscapes. Town welcome signs proudly proclaim their establishment in the 1600s and, after driving through a string of these, I start to think of those founded later, say the 1800s, as modern upstarts. On a typical drive, I pass by impossibly idyllic farmsteads bordered by stacked stone walls and white picket fences, with cows grazing happily in the pastures. As I follow the turns to the next sale dictated by Google Maps, I’m expected to drive up to a sprawling estate with lots of treasures inside.
However, there’s another side to country living and it isn’t as pretty. I looked around confusedly when the familiar Google Maps voice said, “You’ve arrived,” then noticed a small single-lane street with a few cars positioned along the edge. I parked a short distance away and walked toward a “house” where a few people were coming and going. It was really more of a shack with a few steps leading up to a one-room affair. Inside, stuff was piled and thrown everywhere and some people were picking through the dirt and grime in hope of finding something precious or valuable. One older woman lifted a colored glass bottle in the air, effusing, “My mother used to have all sorts of these but she threw them out” (for good reason I expect). I’m all for scavenging but I draw the line at the risk of contracting airborne diseases or coming upon dead rodents in my search. It was the sort of place that should be wrapped in warning tape and condemned by the health department. Yet, the woman running the sale noted happily that she would be there all week bringing in more stuff from some unknown nearby stash. My husband doesn’t usually come with me to these sales but he happened to this time and I found him standing outside with his arms folded and a stern look on his face that said, “what are we doing here?” Needless to say, we left empty handed.
Happily, very few sales turn out that way. Most are located in longtime family homes that are being cleared out by relatives or estate sale pros. That’s not to say they are lavish estates. In fact, they are often modest looking bungalows or split levels but they’re stuffed with interesting treasures that the owners have accumulated over time. One sale was at a midcentury-style split level, the home of a recently deceased elderly couple who were enthusiastic collectors of southwest-style and Native American art. Another was at a lovely two-story colonial filled with nostalgic pieces from the early to mid 1900s. The owners were involved in the dairy industry and had these wonderful old wooden milk crates (which I didn’t buy because of the price, but will probably regret). I also passed on an antique sewing machine and a beautiful ceramic stove/oven with warming cabinets (too big). But I found some great old books, jewelry, and purses.
Below are some my finds from these particular outings (photos link to listings in my Etsy shop). All in all, a satisfying (and edifying) first couple of weeks of estate sale hunting!