Wagon Wheel! A Bittersweet Goldmine

My mom called me at about 8 this morning to invite me to an estate sale just down the street from my house.  I usually really enjoy these functions with my mom, not to mention my aunt was with her, who makes any adventure more of an adventure.  They came and picked me up around 8:30, and we headed down to the sale.  We drove for just a bit trying to spot what house was having the sale, and finally we saw a massive flock of cars and trucks. This must be the place.  The house was at the end of a very old road called wagon wheel.  Now I have seen this street for years and always wondered what was down it. There were many great houses and one house even had a stable. It looked right out of Helen Ga.  I was thinking to myself, on the walk down to the sale and looking at all the wonderful houses,”Geez, some people have it all.”  This is just my jealousy raging out because some people got lucky years ago and found a nice house tucked away on wagon wheel.  The sale was being held at a huge house right on the water.  Mom said to me,” I know the people who lived here, he was a doctor. I wonder where they are?” The house was great, huge yard, giant garage, balconys, only 1 neighbor, and most importantly…..beautiful oak trees filled with moss.   For some people this might be a burden, but for me it’s beauty.  If someone were asked to make a painting of the south, I’m almost sure that a giant oak tree filled with moss would be in the picture somewhere.  The first place I walked into was the garage filled with old furniture and knick knacks – old tools, old signs, stuff hipsters would freak over.  I came across this one piece of furniture and thought to myself, “Hmm, what a nice desk.”  But this was no desk, this was a piano from the 1800′s.  I always loved seeing this stuff. The craftsmanship that went into this piano was phenomenal.  It was made of walnut and looked like someone’s life work.  I stared at it for a moment not realizing what was sitting right next to it, a pump organ from the late 1800′s.  I was blown away.  I said to the salesman,”Does it play?” He said sure it does.  So I pump it a bit and play a few notes, and that’s all it took.  I was in love.  I said “I’ll take it.”  It was a great deal and I figured they had no clue what they had in there garage.  The salesman told me to pay at the end before I left.  I made my way into the main part of the house.  It was filled with antiquities.  I looked around noticing all the great things and great deals.  I finally made it upstairs where my mom and Aunt were looking at some really old quilts.  My aunt said, ” They must have owned a shop, cause there is so much craft stuff in this house.”  It was true, every room was filled with sewing and quilting materials, fabric, cloths, collectors plates, fine china, you name it.  Hanging on the wall, were some of the old quilts.   Aunt Dee was really taken back by some of them. She was holding one quilt in amazement. She said to me, “This quilt is  special.”  It was a very detailed multi pattern quilt. I was impressed, but more impressed when she flipped it over and showed me the hand stitching.  She stated, “They don’t make them like this anymore.”  I sat there for a moment and pondered…… This quilt…..so much time went into it.  I can only imagine what this person went through in their life while making it.  We sometimes don’t think about where things come from, or what long road or path they came down to get to us.  Especially art!  Someone was going to buy this quilt today and never look back and never think about what heart and soul was poured into the making of this fine piece.  I guess the same can be said about paintings, photography, love songs:) I was almost tempted to buy it just to preserve its legacy as someone’s creation.  As I went through the rest of the house, I saw awesome furniture, decanters, tables, dishes, desks, coat racks.  This is someone’s legacy… someone’s whole life…..and I’m here buying it up…taking it to my home for a new chapter.  I can’t help but think where all this stuff came from.  Where was it made? How did they get it? Was it passed down from generations before?  It’s sad to see someone’s life come to an end, to see all they have cared about in the years to be sold off in a swank garage sale.  But that’s how life works.   I think Ben Folds said it best:

“And life barrels on like a runaway train

Where the passengers change

They don’t change anything

You get off; someone else can get on”

Life is always rotating, changing, evolving.  I am just a speck. But I hope someone will play my new pump organ long after I’m gone.

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