Why I Love Yard Sales
So this story has two parts. First, why I love having a yard sale.
Last weekend we had an epic yard sale. We started by cleaning out our garage for a project and ended up with so much stuff we decided to have a sale. And then, I decided, if we were doing it anyway, I really needed to purge the basement as well.
It was hard. I almost cried many times. But I kept telling myself that this was the price I had to pay for just having TOO MUCH STUFF. So, I trekked on with the vision of organization and more space in my future.
I am happy to report that we sold a lot of stuff and the rest will be picked up in a few days and it will ALL BE GONE.
It is therapy people. And we made money to boot! This is reason number one why I love yard sales.
But the guilt has been lingering. Maybe I need to stop going to so many yard sales? I don’t need so much stuff. Even though I don’t go as much, do I really need to keep looking for more stuff?
But, I had an experience the other night that will keep me from ever totally stopping.
So second, why I love going to yard sales.
Because you see, when you go to a yard sale, you find treasures. Treasures with history and a story.
Treasures like this painting.
A few weeks ago, we were visiting my husband’s home town on what happened to be Yard Sale Weekend. This weekend is pretty serious business, but in almost 20 years of marriage, this was only the second time we have been able to go on this weekend. We walked downtown and then a few of us drove around a bit more. We happened upon a “free” pile (same free pile where I decorated my summer mantel from).
I picked up this painting because it looked just like the view from my husband’s family farm. Up on “the hill”, you can look down over the river and the valley. Free, great. Pretty, even better. The view that we both love so much, priceless.
Even if it was of another river, in my mind, it was of our view.
And then I kind of forgot about it until I went to hang it in our guest room.
I don’t know why, but just before I hung it, I turned it over and saw there was a signature.
I know that is hard to see, but it is signed by a family friend in 1958. I couldn't believe it when I saw it. I yelled out to Dana, her first and her last name, I had it right didn't I?
I did, it could be no other.
In fact, it was the same family friend was at my bridal shower and gave me this recipe.
And, gave me this beautiful candy dish. I knew it had been one of her own because it still had a few nut crumbs in it. Knowing it was hers made it even more special, even then. The crumbs just made me giggle.
The same friend who’s driveway Dana would plow when it snowed and who’s wood he delivered.
And, when I shared the find with the rest of the family. There were more memories. Stories of cookies and pictures of a treasured notebook that she used while taking art classes.
And this same friend happened to live right on that river we view from the top of “the hill”. I imagined she may have painted it right in her own backyard, back in 1958. I guess it was our view after all.
A treasure indeed.
A few weeks ago, we were visiting my husband’s home town on what happened to be Yard Sale Weekend. This weekend is pretty serious business, but in almost 20 years of marriage, this was only the second time we have been able to go on this weekend. We walked downtown and then a few of us drove around a bit more. We happened upon a “free” pile (same free pile where I decorated my summer mantel from).
I picked up this painting because it looked just like the view from my husband’s family farm. Up on “the hill”, you can look down over the river and the valley. Free, great. Pretty, even better. The view that we both love so much, priceless.
Even if it was of another river, in my mind, it was of our view.
And then I kind of forgot about it until I went to hang it in our guest room.
I don’t know why, but just before I hung it, I turned it over and saw there was a signature.
I know that is hard to see, but it is signed by a family friend in 1958. I couldn't believe it when I saw it. I yelled out to Dana, her first and her last name, I had it right didn't I?
I did, it could be no other.
In fact, it was the same family friend was at my bridal shower and gave me this recipe.
And, gave me this beautiful candy dish. I knew it had been one of her own because it still had a few nut crumbs in it. Knowing it was hers made it even more special, even then. The crumbs just made me giggle.
The same friend who’s driveway Dana would plow when it snowed and who’s wood he delivered.
And, when I shared the find with the rest of the family. There were more memories. Stories of cookies and pictures of a treasured notebook that she used while taking art classes.
And this same friend happened to live right on that river we view from the top of “the hill”. I imagined she may have painted it right in her own backyard, back in 1958. I guess it was our view after all.
A treasure indeed.
