“The driveway was, well, terribly designed. A beautiful serpentine, steep, with fresh mown grass strips on either side, enticing, more so due to the “Yard Sale Today” sign at the bottom, as the dizzying forest leafed out in frantic prolific bursts of lime green, almost before our very eyes. I became pinned to the SUV’s bucket seat-back, as we climbed. A hand-printed sign said something vague and poetic about “other cars”. Which is when we met one, on a blind curve. My friend, she drives calmly, which I like. There was no crash or road rage or fist fight, not on this day of the town-wide yard sale. In fact, the smaller car seemed glad to be given the opportunity to back up, and stylishly tuck itself handily, onto a slightly indented fairy castle-like plot of unworldly verdancy. This was the sale that had advertised “psychedelic and hologram paper and vinyl sheets” and “a genuine python skin”, also “quality faux fur, velvets, stretch velvet, stretch Italian satins and micro fabrics, brocade” and “a tanned ox tail”. I’m sorry folks, but you have to pay attention. This local stuff does not flash out on billboards or even Instagram. So we parked, somehow on a dime sized pull-off, next to the barn, so adequately adorned by perfect slab wood, that you would think they’d shot LL Bean’s last catalog up here. The house, also, gently white-washed with boards meant to look comfortably faded, like pre-washed jeans. Yet, better than that, more artistic and genuinely fun. Not stodgy, or corporate. I could not wait to get out of the Tundra. I could see the “Free” box, and even it looked interesting. The barn doors were flung wide. We all four set our sights to what might be in there, and split up, each gravitating slightly askew to the rest. I guess we actually were one of the first groups to arrive. My eyes lit onto over-sized plant pots glued back together but elegant, and a box of incandescent light bulbs for $2. There were other things, I grabbed, and tucked under my arm. The step up to the “tack room”, although there was no sign of horses, yielded a panoply of leftovers, from some profession, I couldn’t quite grasp. The rolled up leather, piles of vintage linens, the full rack of finely hand- crafted women’s shoes, like what you might see in Venice. I smiled and tried to make polite conversation with this creature-host, who reminded me of friends of mine in Brooklyn. Sure enough, this was a divorce sale, of sorts. What clothes he’d left were neatly folded and piled, for easy access. I wanted all his clothes, but he’d been an elfish fellow, it seems. A thin flannel bathrobe, & soft, cotton shirts, washed so many times and worked in for years, but just a tad diminutive, for me. A small tragedy, but I took it in stride, as all yard salers must, when confronted with similar close-calls or, in the end, defeats. I’d nearly scored 20 tasteful, old school, plaid, worn in new/old shirts. But, it was not meant to be. He was small for a reason, and now ... he was gone. I didn’t need to rub it in by complaining. I was brimming with treasure, without him. I began to chat with the proprietress, though my friends had disappeared. I guess I was more than a little bit taken, by this magic barn. I thrust out the Tubbs snow shoes. “How much for these”? Without hesitation, she said “50 cents”, with an ease that made me like her. “25 cents for the dutch oven”. It was rusted, but I knew I could restore the solid cast iron, and it was the size I’d always wanted, slightly smaller, and more practical for everyday use than the one I had. I almost left then, to make sure my friends were not languishing in our vehicle and wanting to leave, but felt compelled to walk over to the velvet curtains one last time. She saw my interest, and ran to pull them off the rack. “These are so amazing”, she breathed. & I knew she was speaking truth. She found a chair and jumped up on it, then motioned me to come. I handed her the cloth. Her disciple now, I only wanted to please her. She raised her fashionable, one-of-a-kind fabrics high, so that their full length could be seen and their whimsical embroidered stitching, fully revealed. I was beyond mere dedication. Who is this goddess? Well, with a little googling, I discovered that she designed shoes. This was later, at home. Sitting surrounded by my other scores: a cheap, cordless drill, a wooden ladder, a well-used whet stone for sharpening the blades of my manual lawn mower. Which is kind of where this kind of seduction begins. A nicely manicured lawn, or entryway into a kingdom of heaven, makes the heart grow fonder, and the guards come down. I’d like to have all my blades sharp, at all times, if possible. PS The photo I’ve posted here bookends my week, and you can see it because it resides on a path that is open to the public.”
