I’m still fascinated by life’s coincidences. Long before I ever knew I’d marry a Massachusetts boy, never mind live in Massachusetts, my father traveled up here from Virginia in possibly 1969ish and ended up at the Brimfield Flea Market. It’s the largest in New England, at least a mile in length.
Among other things, he came away with this table, which now sits in our den.
Many years later, My Guy and I owned a lake house up the road for 20 years, and at least once a summer we’d stroll through the booths. It’s a pretty little town, so it was only natural that in 1996 the Town Hall was the site of our daughter’s wedding.And here we were back again this weekend. You can truly, literally, find anything here.
I’ve found my dining table sitting by the road, hand-fashioned silver jewelry from Afghan artists, and a stone fountain for our last house.
I’ve also decided that no one need to worry about discarding family memories when downsizing. Just go to a good flea market and you can visit them there.
While there, I found cousins of my grandmother’s silver coasters, a stereopticon like the one that sat on our coffee table when I was five, and a pedal car like one we bought for our 4-year-old son.
We almost fell over when we saw this wicker frog. In 1970 my mother sent us its twin to use as a magazine holder. We used it to mount a mobile for our newborn daughter as she lay on a quilt on the living room floor.
We are actually still using this
glass bowl for salad, and the cut crystal one is still with us in the basement, I think. I should probably let it go and just visit it next summer.