Yard Bargains
August 2022
“Fifty cents.”
I didn’t quibble. I knew what I wanted. Hardback classics. I rummaged through several cardboard boxes and plucked out a half dozen keepers. A collection of Jack London short stories. Aldous Huxley’s “Brave New World.” A 719-page story that begins, “Scarlett O’Hara was not beautiful, but...”
My eyes grew wide when I snagged a four-pounder. It may have been my best catch of the day, an 1853 Works of Lord Byron, complete and unabridged, even as it sat without a cover on its back and spine. That’s okay, when I’m 160 years old, I won’t have a cover on my spine either. I held it tight like a new toy, even though I knew that for the rest of my life, I won’t sit still long enough to get through its 1,100 pages.
You never know what you’ll find at a yard sale. I’m not an expert, since I don’t work the sales religiously. But some people do. They scour the newspapers. They search websites. They plan their weekend strategies like Sun Tsu. They rise with the deer hunters and the milk trucks, and like an army, they do more before breakfast than most people do all day. Not me.
“Good selection,” the owner said as she accepted my money.
“I never read ‘Gone with the Wind,’” I blurted. “But I did see the first half of the movie.”
She looked at me with pity.
“The Byron!” I changed the subject, clutching the old book with both hands like it was the Stanley Cup.
“Yeah,” she sighed. “I’m an English teacher...” She explained she was getting ready to act on her life’s goal and launch into serious creative writing. I wasn’t sure why she would want to get rid of these classics. But she is an English teacher. She probably memorized most of this stuff...sees it in her dreams. Now she’s changing course, from full-time teacher to full-time writer.
Many of life’s transitions are marked by yard sales.
I thanked her for the treasures and wished her success in her literary career and took off down the street on my bicycle, two bags of books hanging from my handlebars like the scales of justice.
Every yard saler’s switch is unique. Like a fingerprint. And every yard sale is a psychological study. The sellers organize clues to their past and spread them on a grid for buyers to pick over like blackbirds. A carny of card tables and cardboard boxes serve up a mix of function and folly, kitsch and utensils.
Yard sales operate on the simple principle that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Over and over, yard sales offer the best proof that Elvis never left the building.
Some day my family will have to dispose of my acquisitions. I hope they find good homes, these books, where their pages will get a workout and their backs and spines will wear.
Passing on knowledge is the most satisfying form of recycling. That and yard sales.
Excerpt from John’s latest book, Souls Along the Road.