The Collector’s Bug

The Collecting Bug

“Who would have thought I’d be a collector?” I say jovially to Dane, holding up my two newest prized possessions: a small metal turtle that can hold a candle, and a green glass bottle with a narrow bottom that will fit on the bathroom window ledge.

It’s an overcast Sunday afternoon and we’re making our way home from Cable, Wisconsin, where we’ve already visited every Salvation Army (Dane’s favorite), Goodwill (my favorite), antique, and resale shop in Bayfield, Washburn, Ashland, Cable, Spooner, Sparta, and smaller towns in between.

Dane doesn’t answer because he’s still fuming about the prices at the secondhand store we just left. Everything was advertised as “40 percent off,” but it was clear to us that the prices had been marked up first.

As we exited the store, we heard a lady ask, “Is the building for sale? When are you going out of business?”

“As soon as someone buys the building,” one of the proprietors answered.

Dane and I both rolled our eyes. The owners are masters of their craft, buying and reselling. And they aren’t losing any money doing it.

We left behind two cobalt vases, the kind we’ve been hunting down for the last five months. We’ve decided to use cobalt vases for our September wedding, with simple fresh-cut flowers. We both love that color—and we both love rummaging! But we refuse to pay more than $5 apiece, and even with 40 percent off, at $8.96 each, those were the most expensive vases we’ve found.

So far, we have 29 vases, and we’ll need at least 10 more. My daughter, Jessica, found us two, as did my friend Emily. Dane and I have had a blast finding the rest.

As we drive to the next place, I start listing out loud the other things I collect: “Small colored glass bottles, blue insulators, and snails!” Simultaneously, we both add, “Turtles!” Dane then says that he only collects rocks and records, but I add to his list: “Knives, little bags, cool boxes, and sea glass.” Actually, we both collect rocks and sea glass. It’s not uncommon for us to come home from a trip with a pocketful of rocks, and sometimes a couple of big ones in the trunk.

Today, we have a large box in the trunk full of new-looking blue insulators—a huge score from our rummaging in Bayfield the day before.

We’re both still thinking about our various collections when my GPS talks: “Turn left in 50 feet on County Highway M. Second Season will be closing in one hour of your expected arrival time.”

Dang, I think, we’ll need to hurry. We pull into the parking lot and rush in, each of us looking for that flash of bright blue. We find a large cobalt vase, but its opening is too wide, so we set it back down. We scour the store with minutes to spare before closing, but we don’t find any more vases, or turtles, snails, knives, or cool-looking boxes.

I’m reminded of when I was little and Dad would take me to flea markets, where we’d walk past table after table of used items for sale. I’m not sure what Dad was looking for, but at that time, I was collecting salt and pepper shakers.

The best times were when Dad and I would set up a table in our yard and sell our own junk. If I sold one of my toys, I’d get to keep the money. Translation: I’d get another salt and pepper shaker or a horse statue, which I also collected.

Mom despised our rummage sales at the house, but we lived for them! We’d start by sweeping out the garage, hosing it down, and then setting up old wooden eight-foot tables. Dragging our stuff from the house was never dull. Jack and Jill would often have a meltdown and take back their possessions that I’d felt they didn’t need anymore.

Mom would simply disappear.

Dane and I pull into the driveway, anticipating a warm welcome from the dogs and at least 30 minutes of emptying out the car. Dane knows I’m excited about the insulators, and he holds the box as we walk around the yard, and I place one on each fence post. In October, I’ll replace them with pumpkins. For now, I love seeing the house surrounded by that pretty blue color.

Being a collector might be a gene I got from my Dad. But seeing how Dane and I are finally getting hitched, I’m thankful we both have the bug.