It was a bucket list thing. Although we are no longer in the acquisition mode, Silverbelle-She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named is a lifetime antique buffs who had never made it to the Holy Mecca of Brimfield, Massachusetts. It was the final stop of a Labor Day weekend getaway that was jammed-packed with the regional highlights of New England– Rockport, Pawtuxet Cove (Narragansett Bay), The North End, Fenway– and now Brimfield. She was ready!
After a brief orientation, we were ready to hit the streets. There were many other Silverbacks and Silverbelles milling about, some wearing colorful (i.e. ridiculous) costumes. The market happens on both sides of Route 20 in tiny Brimfield. As many as 50,000 bargain hunters are there:
Everyone is dragging a cart for their goodies. It’s a bewildering accumulation of Americana, gathered in an unlikely spot. In fact, it’s overwhelming. So much … junk, all in one place! It quickly becomes overwhelming. Artwork, trinkets, license plates … I am quicly inspired to haiku:
Paraphenalia,
Everything is for sale,
Including your soul.
Of course, you have to stop for a bite to eat.
Steak bomb, anyone?
Didn’t take this Silverback long to be done-in by the whole experience!
We should have had a booth called Old Rockers replete with a dozen or so antique rocking chairs where old folks could take a load off and reminisce ad nauseam about the 60’s/70’s music scene. The rockers would be for sale right next to the Old Postcards display.
Next time come up with these brilliant marketing ideas before the event happens. (Seriously … do you want to spend four days waxing nostalgic with geezers like us?)
Over 30 years ago we happened upon our somewhat antique/perfect for us dining room hutch. Brimfield = such a weird and wonderful conglomeration of things and humans. Looks like you were too close to one of those steak bombs when it went off!🫣
I was done-in by steak bomb shrapnel.