As Simple at That

This past autumn-before I fell and broke my arm and had to take a two month hiatus from active antiquing--Husbola and I took a trip out west.  This kind of rambling car trip always involves stopping at any antique shop we pass.  We use the excuse that it is to stretch our legs, "or visit the washroom" but in reality--we can't help ourselves.  We love to poke around and maybe find some neat old stuff.

It is as simple as we always hope to find something  in a regional that is a sleeper item-- one that will be reasonably priced and will strike the fancy of our midwestern clients.

There is one little shop--in one little town slightly off the interstate in South Dakota that has become an entertaining stop.  After miles and miles of tumbleweeds and Wall Drug Store signs, it is time for a break in a town where the speed limit on Main Street is 20 mph and you pass five churches to get to the store.  In previous years--the shop was on the opposite side of the street and now it has expanded to the other side.  Other times we have stopped and it has been closed for the day.  But this particular day, the shop was open and we ventured in.

We were greeted this time by an elderly lady (roughly defined as anyone 40 years older than me!) sitting in the front window.  When we stepped in we were immediately spoken to and we all made bright conversation about the incredible high winds that day and  the generally dismal weather.  It became quickly clear that this woman was not the shop owner--but a local gal who came in everyday to pass the time.  This was her seat and her role was to chat up the customers.  The shop owner spoke to us from the register and continued her business.  The elderly woman continued talking.  And talking.

The shop had expanded and was full of items that one would find in South Dakota-mostly farm primitives and useful household items.  You don't  antique shop in SD to find decorative items--the practical nature of life there over the years allows for items actually used and pretty standard collectibles.  We focus on advertising and primitives and usually find something to take back with us.

We were watched and followed quite closely by the aged woman.  In fact, she followed me around the shop and commented on most of the items I picked up.  Now--I just really dislike that.  I am a shopper that likes to be greeted--but then left alone to browse.  This is a practice Husbola and I follow with our clients--greet them and let them wander--don't mug the customers.

After a while, I sort of ignored her--I would throw in a "hmmm" or "uh huh" every once in awhile but I was able to shop around.   She did periodically pick something up and ask me if I knew what it was or tell me that her mother had had "one" and explain what it was used for.  She actually became quite entertaining.  I ended up picking some items called miner's tags.  These are very decorative brass tags that had the names and number of a particular miner stamped on them--and she explained that when the man went underground, the tag would be hung on a board--so the company would know who was underground.  This was particularly interesting to me as the miner's in Chile were still stuck underground.

We found a few other things and eventually checked out.  As we were walking out the door, the older woman asked," You're not from around here are you?"  We replied that no we lived in northern Illinois and were just tourists. "Do you live on a farm or in town?' she asked.  Startled by that question--we hesitantly said "in town" although that is really not the right answer.--but we know we do not live on a farm.  "I thought so" she replied.  Out the door we went.

As we headed back to the tumbleweeds and the interstate--I started thinking about this older woman.  So many times when Husbola and I stop in shops--NO ONE speaks up as you enter.  In one shop we know, a newspaper is more important to the clerk than customer service.  Certainly talk about the weather or discussion about certain antiques is never on the menu in many shops.  Heck--sometimes a "thank you" after a purchase is not on the menu.  This old gal has found a shop owner friend who is willing to let her hang out in her store.  Being elderly in small town South Dakota could be mighty isolating and lonely--this lady goes home each night with stories from the shop and a reason to get up the next day.

Sometimes she even gets to educate visiting city folks about farm primitives and miner's tags.

Favourite Things Might Not Be That Old

Please forgive the blogging delay--trips away--and another kind of trip--resulting in a broken upper arm have kept me from the computer.  Back in the saddle again--but will be hunt and peck left handed on the computer for awhile.

This week the news is full of the engagement of William and Kate--and all sorts of royal family news.  Many stories focus on the engagement ring--that fabulous sapphire ring that many of us remember on Diana's  finger in the early 1980s.  That beautiful young girl in that beautiful ring.--seems like forever ago.

In 1981,  I had the incredible fortune to attend the University of London for a graduate semester.  While I was there--November I think----Princess Diana and Prince Charles announced that they were expecting a baby.  Newspapers are hawked on every street corner in London--and that day all the paper stands had the familiar throw away promo sheet poster that screamed "Baby for Diana" 3 Page Special Evening Standard.  Riding back to my flat that night from classes at Russell Square--the Underground stopped as usual at an above ground station at South Kensington.  While alighting from the Tube (in England you do not get off a train--you alight!) I was watching as a man dashed by and jumped on the train a split second before the train roared off again.  He dropped something.  A newsprinty thing folded into quarters.  I knew what it was before I even picked it up.  One of those fabulous Baby For Diana posters.  Talk about ephemera--I imagine most were tossed out by paper vendors--but a few must have been saved.  And I have one.

I brought it back to the states--and it has been framed and has lived where I have lived since 1981.  The color remains good--in spite of being printed on low quality newsprint.  I know that it would have quite a price if I decided to sell it.  But no way--mine it remains.

That baby is now 28 years old and engaged to be married.  Antiques aren't antiques  at 28 years of age--but they can be priceless just the same.

It Started With A Little Lamp

I think that most dyed in the wool antique lovers can reflect back on an experience or two when they knew they were hooked--and collecting or just appreciating "neat old stuff" became part of their fabric.
It is this time of year--when I think back to probably my earliest antiquing experience--and acquisition.  I actually just dusted the item that is still in our home.

My grandparents used to own a 30 acre Christmas tree farm between the little central Wisconsin communities of Plainfield and Hancock.  In the 1960s--that was a hotbed of great local estate auctions.  A great summer and autumn past time was to attend one of these auctions--and find something to use at the cottage.  The whole family loved and still loves great old stuff.  Auctions never used to be held as often as they are now--and were used to disburse whole households.  Central Wisconsin was ripe for the pickings.

One very late summer day I attended an auction with just my Dad.  I am not sure what caught his eye or what was the appeal of that particular auction--but we spent a whole day at this auction.  Ramshackle home stuffed with treasure and several out buildings.

That year I was firmly in the throws of my Laura Ingalls Wilder hero worship phase. This was pre-television show--just the books had me mesmerized.  I WAS Laura.   My mother sewed a pioneer dress for me and I would haul my wagon around the yard stuffed with goodies and I used to make camp a million times a day under a million different trees.  I spyed at this auction  a treasure--and I JUST HAD TO HAVE IT for my pioneer get up.

I was never a kid to ask my parents for stuff.  Acquisition was limited to birthdays and Christmas.  Period.  But there on a shelf in the ramshackle shed was a 10 inch little blue willow pattern china kerosene lamp.  These were made in Japan in the 1950s.  The base would be filled with kerosene--and the little wick would be lit and a matching chimney and shade made it complete.  Who knows why it caught my eye.  I have no clue how I let my dad know that that was a lamp I would really like.

The auction dragged on and on.  It came to 5pm and supper time--and my mom was expecting us back at the farm.  No phone call to make--we left before they got to the shed and Dad promised we would eat fast and return to the auction. We did just that.  We arrived back to the auction in time for the auctioneer to just be starting  to sell the items in that little shed.  This story does have a happy ending--my dad won the lamp for $2.00 I think.  I remember my dad saying to the auctioneer "You made a little girl very happy."  This just stuck with me.

I still have that cute little lamp.  Through college-living in London-Naperville-Oak Park-Downtown and now The Green Envelope.  It sits in our guest room and gives me warm feelings everytime I look at it.  And dust it.

Good to the Last Drop!

 My Dear Husbola writes a blog that serves the water industry--but in light of his recent antique related post--I thought I would share it with you--think  of this as a guest blogger post!

Recently, I attended an estate auction held in a farm yard surrounded by hovering corn stalks, mysterious metal storage structures and biting flies. Several generations of possessions were piled upon farm wagons awaiting eager bidders. On one of the wagons, I spied two cast iron water hand pumps, one red, the other green.

When a ring man held up the green one for the auctioneer to start his chant, the ring man pumped the handle up and down as if he were pumping water at a sink in an imaginary farm kitchen. But, of course, there was no water to be pumped--only the dusty air of the farm yard. At that moment, I wondered what it would be like if my pump or faucet were dry and produced only air. Many parts of this country as well as other parts of the world face that prospect.

But, alas, there WAS water to be had at the auction, though at a significant cost. A food vendor squeezed within a small trailer next to the auction site was selling bottles of drinking water for about $1 each. That works out to be about $8 per gallon or $8,000 per 1,000 gallons.

What is the point? There are two points to be made. First, safe drinking water increasingly is becoming a scare commodity, particularly as demand grows across the world.

Second, to deliver safe drinking water to our hand pumps and faucets costs more and more as time goes on. In August, Black & Veatch issued the findings of its sixth "50 Largest Cities Water and Wastewater Rate Survey." The survey found that the average annual increase in typical residential water bills from 2001-2009 was 5.3%, and for residential sewer bills, 5.5%. These annual increases were more than twice the average annual CPI-D increases of 2.4%. (See www.bv.com/top50ratesurvey)

According to Black & Veatch's analysis of the survey, causes for the bill increases included:

1. Increases in operating and maintenance expenses, such as for electricity and chemicals.

2. Lower usage, and corresponding lower revenue to cover fixed costs such as debt service.

3. Pension and health care benefits.

4. Regulatory and legal requirements.

5. Aging infrastructure, requiring replacement and upgrading.

To the list, I would add the "scarcity factor." In some areas, ground water supplies are diminishing and surface water supplies are becoming less reliable or more costly to utilize. Utility systems are being compelled to search for alternative supplies, which may involve construction of transmission pipelines or more extensive treatment facilities.

No, I did not bid on either hand pump, nor did I buy a bottle of water. I journeyed home thirsty but more appreciative of the glass of cool water from my faucet. It really was good to the last drop.

An Auctioneer who "Get's it!"

Last Saturday was a gorgeous day--so Husbola and I headed west in Old Green to an auction  that was new to us and advertised in the Auction Action Antique News publication.  If you are not familiar with this weekly paper--it is published in Wisconsin and is chock full of auction ads, stories about midwest shows and general info that is of interest to the trade.

So we found an auction that had been moved off site and was being held in the auctioneer's building in the middle of cornfields in northern Illinois.  It promised to be a good one--and estate of hoarders. 

Now--don't think me heartless please when I salivate over an auction of goods belonging to hoarders.  I hold Antique Hoarders in the highest regard.  After all--where are we sellers supposed to get the goods that are fresh to market if there were no haorders?   The unfortuante thing is if the items were not stored properly or were out in the elements or were subject to further deterioration and then they are no good to anyone but he dumpster company.  This auction had good itmes--mostly quite clean.  The inventory was not an insult to the attendees.

This auctioneer and his company "gets it."  By this I mean--with the exception of a few little niggly things--the day was most pleasant and we left feeling good.  To start--when we pulled up--there was a parking lot attendant who directed us where to park. They even had a kid in golf cart to shuttle you to the front door if you needed a lift.  When we walked in--the auctioneer shook Husbola's hand and welcomed us.  The large well lit and ventilated building was very  bright and clean.  Please read that again--bright and CLEAN.  Items were well spaced for easy viewing--and there were plenty of people to answer questions.

There was a large very clean and extensive lunch and snack area.  No grubby fingers taking your money and then loading a hot dog in a bun. (since I am fresh off a health department certified food handler course--I am paying attention.  Don't eat the chopped onions! But that is a story for another day)

The auctioneer was clear in the order of the sale.  If you wanted an item put up for auction out of the random order set by the ring men--you just asked them.  REALLY?  You mean I don't have to wait all day for my widget to be auctioned?  Of course--that does draw the crowd's attention to that widget--which may NOT be a good thing--

The auctioneer just flew.  No dinking dunking through each item--they sped through the auction and kept moving at  a lightening pace--you snooze you loose. For much of the auction they had a camera on each item and the image projected on a large screen. It was a big crowd--and now you could see what was bing auctioned very clearly.

We were out of there by 2pm-and checkout was breeze.  They quickly processed the sale tickets--and we were on our way.

Ok--there were two points that could be improved on--they need TWO porta loo's and one for each gender.  All my women readers know exactly what I mean.  They are going to have chairs at future auctions--but they are relatively knew to this facility--and are still in the set up phase.  Now--what treasures did we uncover?  You will just have to visit our booth at On The Square Antique Mall in Walworth Wisconsin and see for yourself.

I've Had It--I've Had It!!!!!!!

It usually happens every year--as the last gasps of summer are starting to morph into the early start of autumn that I start getting ants in my pants. The strong sales of summer--and I am happy to report-this summer at the shop has been strong in sales--bring out my eagerness to start to liquidate the merchandise that has not sold and I perceive as being stale.

Every antique dealer makes buying mistakes. No matter how long you have been in the business--some things that you thought were so neat and would be snapped up quickly are still in the shop, or are still in your show bins. What do you so with it? The items may have survived a storewide sale, may have survived any number of markdowns--and the dreck is still hanging around.

I take inventory this time of year and make my lists and start to load up Old Green to take a load to an area auction house. Many auction houses have their bread and butter auctions with the dreck that is culled out from antique dealers. We'd love to think that auctions are always sparkling estate sales of fresh antiques from 103 year old women who have lived in their houses since birth. Not so. Alot of auction inventory can be the "treasures" that dealers can't sell and want to unload to other dealers. Think of this dreck as the plankinton of the antique food chain.

Why did I buy that primitive red farm table? I KNOW that red in furniture is a hard sell these days--but I LOVE RED. We paid HOW MUCH for that en plein air painting of the lake scene in autumn with the mountains in the background? People in the midwest do not buy mountain paintings. Those fabulous mid century drapes? SO RETRO but SO ORANGE and that is not the latest color in Martha Stewart Living these days.

Now it is time to wander through the shop, endure heat and mosquitos and dig through the garage and come up with an auction load and turn dreck into cash. The only way to make money in the antiques business is to turn your inventory and turn it quickly. Smart dealers today know not to fall in love with what they buy--add a reasonable--VERY reasonable profit on the items and turn them over. Freshness is what the buyer wants--and of course adjusted 2010 realistic pricing. A dealer friend named Polly calls stale merchandise "Old Friends". She will greet me after visiting one of our booths in late summer and say--"I visited your old friends at Walworth again today." Yikes! Time to purge!

But--darn it--I STILL love that red table.

Sometimes It's More Than the Sales

Husbola and I have recently returned from an antique show in Eagle River Wisconsin. We have done the show for a few years--and it is the first week of August way "up nort" in my childhood home state. The show has been around for 50 years--sponsored by the Rotary Club and promoted and run by our friends Joan and Jim Walter.

This show is an example of "you have to look at the whole package" kind of show.

Now--it is NOT a vacation. Nooooo--a vacation is not sitting in a large metal building for two days showing our wares. We really have lucked out over the years--the show is held in a surprisingly clean and well lit, snowmobile racing aerodrome Morton building kind of thing. Eagle River is know for fishing and boating and hunting and in the winters it become the snowmobile capital of the northwoods. That would not be a selling point for Husbola and me. But this show is the first week of August--and it has never been blazing hot.

The drive is long--really long. About 400 miles for us. But once you reach north of Tomahawk--the landscape changes from sand country woods to dense northwoods and we know we are a long way from home. Our travel takes us past the little town in which my grandparents owned a 30 acre Christmas Tree farm, past Wisconsin Rapids that used to smell like paper mills but doesn't anymore and on to Tomahawk WI. Tomahawk is home to the oldest standing Dog N Suds in America and there used to be a large wooden cigar store indian downtown. Travel takes us past Minoqua--home of the Paul Bunyon restaurant, the Waters resort that burned and was rebuilt several years ago--and has never been the same, and the wooden bleachers that you can watch the free water show from--but they are not wooden anymore.

Eagle River itself is pretty straighforward--from the weird guy who sells wild rice to the famous Bucktail Tavern. This tavern/restaurant is off the main drag and is full of locals--and drinks are served on a large varnished pine bar. Lon serves up a mean gin and tonic. If you go two days in a row--Lon will remember you when you walk in and have your drink waiting at your stool. Oh--and the walleye fry on Friday night--fresh hot and extra good with an order of hand dipped fried mushrooms. A once a year treat.

How about the Friendship Cafe? The waitress knows our order "two poached eggs medium on whole wheat toast". But Husbola fooled her on the last day and got french toast instead.

Driving home with Husbola at the wheel--we should really have a sign on the back of our truck that says "we brake for farmstands." By the time we got home--I was balanced between bags of peaches, two huge muskmelons, green beans, zucchini and tomatoes. Our favourite stand is in Hancock--the town that time has forgotten. It is still 1960 in Hancock--there is a farm stand in front of a home--we met the owners last year--and you get your produce and put the money in a can with the honor system. What a town. If an old crooked yeller dog ambled across our path--we would not have been surprised.

Oh yes--and there was a two day antique show and we sold antiques.