Tag Archives: barn

Because you knew it had to happen.

I was told in no uncertain terms not to string lighted garland in the man cave or bedeck it’s sacred male space with red Christmas bows… so I didn’t.

But I wasn’t told anything about wreaths.

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Or Santas and stars.

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Or pinecone reindeer with shiny ornaments hanging from their antlers.

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Or festive bar placemats.

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Or winterberry trees with bundled up birdies.

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Or glass jars of sparklies with mini glitter trees.

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And speaking of trees…

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I wasn’t prohibited from those either.

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Silly man. He really should learn to be more specific.

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Antiquing and some very heavy water.

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A recent antiquing day trip to search for a final alcoholic crate left me empty handed but did result in a few chuckles.

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Yum.

Not.

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I think I had one very similar to this when I was a kid.

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Bloomers.. complete with reinforced crotch. Who could ask for more?

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I’ve been looking for an old crank phone like this for the man cave. But this one didn’t crank and was missing parts … so for $350, I left it there.

And speaking of the man cave…

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I’ve started to migrate my vinyl out there, though there isn’t enough room in any one spot to line up the crates in a row.

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Guess they’ll have to be scattered here and there.

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And if you’re wondering what’s going on here, it’s the husband breaking his back trying to upend a vintage glass water bottle into the cooler. He’s collected the damn things for years and wants to replace all the plastic containers it came with.

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Prettier, but damn. They’re seriously heavy.

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Barn envy is a terrible thing.

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Vermont is a predominantly rural state. It wouldn’t surprise me if the cows outnumber the people, and that’s fine by me. In this rural landscape, you’ll see barns.

Lots and lots of barns.

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Red barns.

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Brown barns.

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Barns with cows outside.

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And barns with cows inside.

My husband was positively beside himself the whole time we were there. Every time we’d pass an old, slightly neglected looking barn he’d mumble about getting inside and poking around for old tools and treasure. Thankfully I managed to restrain him before he was arrested for trespassing, but the dreaming over what might be inside continued… until it reached its peak here.

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A round, and extremely well cared for barn.

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Attached to a large farm house which turned out to be a lovely inn, he was besotted.

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It was all I could do to keep him in the car.

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Admittedly it was a beautiful thing, but not the type of place that would take kindly to random strangers poking around unsupervised.

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Now that’s what I call the perfect mailbox.

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The journey.

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We set off early Tuesday morning and it was a perfectly beautiful day. Sunny, with a delightful bite of crisp fall air.

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We hit the western Maine mountains before 10….

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And the New Hampshire White Mountains shortly after. Leaves were just beginning to turn and it was wonderful.

At 1:00?

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Hello Vermont! We’ve missed you.

And you’re welcome, though I’m not sure what we did to deserve your thanks.

If you’ve never been to Vermont? I have one word for you… go!

Verdant green fields and barn red barns. Gentle rolling hills and well tended farms. Picturesque mountain villages and of course, cows.

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It’s gloriously scenic, delightfully quirky, and utterly addicting.

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We were sad to see The Farmer’s Daughter gift shop had lost its daughter. There used to be a large sign out front of a farm girl with her skirt blown up… but all that’s left now are the hands, hanging disembodied and more than a little creepy.

We did see a giant hammer wind mill down the road…

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But it doesn’t bring the same smile to your face as that saucy wind blown wench.

When we headed north and west towards our resort, the weather took a turn.

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Eerie, ominous skies dominated the rest of the way and by the time we arrived in the little town of Jeffersonville?

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Rain. And so much high fog you couldn’t see the mountains.

To be continued….

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And finally, the other side.

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Because my husband never likes to rush things he moved around to the back side of the baby barn yesterday to complete the gutter installation…. 12 days after he did the front. Better late than never is his middle name.

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Did things go more smoothly on the flip side?

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They did not.

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Miscalculation on length left him with two short pieces instead of the one long piece he needed which meant yet another trip to Lowes for additional connectors. Sigh.

Was the finished gutter line straight and true?

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Not quite, but it doesn’t leak. That’s probably as much as I can hope for.

And if you’re wondering just how dry it’s been here?

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Dry enough for the husband to a pan under the downspout to catch the small amount of rain we got last night.

Please note the green you see is all weeds. Most of the grass is still brown.

😕

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A pool table tune up.

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The husband came in the house the other day complaining his pool table felt was loose. You know, the extra expensive, special order, professional grade imported fabric he just had to have when we bought the table. Fearing this would be the usual Casa River nightmare… I was pleasantly surprised when after one call to the store of purchase the owner’s son was here to fix the problem the next afternoon. For free.

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Free is always my favorite word and to be honest I never even knew pool tables needed tune ups but apparently it’s quite common.

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And it isn’t a quick fix by any means.

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Rails must be removed, fabric must be loosened and peeled off the slate. The wax seal must be checked and smoothed.

And then tugging begins.

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Which of course the husband had to be in on.

Men. You do love a good tug.

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After a solid two hours of pulling and tugging and securing on this side, and then pulling and tugging and securing on that side, only to repeat the pulling, tugging and securing on the first side etc etc until I would have heaved the whole table out the door, it was done.

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Rails were replaced, stray threads were trimmed, felt was cleaned and no bill was presented. When I asked the young man how long the warranty on the table lasted… he floored me by saying forever. Granted the fabric will only have so many stretches in it, and because ours is thinner than normal felt it won’t last as long… but as far as normal maintenance goes we’re golden.

This happens so infrequently I was at a loss how to respond. So I pressed a big old tip into his hand to show our appreciation.

🙂

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More antiquing in the Mid Coast.

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Too many antique stores, too little time. Not to mention money.

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Mantiques? That sounded like trouble…. and as soon as we walked through the door of the large converted barn I feared my checkbook might not survive.

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1939 Rockola Art Deco juke box with unusual pop up speaker? Fabulous! The husband drooled on behalf of the man cave, but I broke his heart and refused to fork over $9,995.00.

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You know it’s not your every day thrift store when you see things like this.

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Embalming pump? That’s a coffee table piece sure to spark scintillating conversations.

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Any ideas what that is…?

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Apparently pumps of all sorts are popular.

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I got a huge kick out of the price tag description on this item.

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Lock the kids in the sweat box. That’ll keep ‘em quiet.

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If a naked blonde doesn’t encourage Junior to save his pennies, nothing will.

Three full floors of amazing items later we almost made it out the door without purchasing anything and then…

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The husband fell in love.

A long conversation with the owner followed. Photos of the Barn Mahal were shared, placement of the item was discussed. Meanwhile, I sought the price tag…

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And while slightly less painful than the first jukebox, it was still a tad more than I planned on spending that day.

Husband eyes were flashing that “I have to own it!” look and yours truly had to do some quick thinking.

A jukebox.

From 1946?

It only played 78’s!

Perry Como, Doris Day, Mitch Miller, Bing Crosby? Not man cave music. Nope. Not even close.

Phew! That was close.

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Things I like today.

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The drought is still turning our lawn into sandpaper and killing every living thing I’ve planted… so right now? I’m liking these.

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Though I’ll have to switch ‘something green’ to ‘something brown’. I’ve got plenty of those.

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A duck popping spaceship? I like! Sign me up.

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Lord Dudley Mountcatten? I always like him… though the man cave leather club chairs didn’t like his claws.. at all.

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Oh yes, that’s a tee shirt I definitely like.

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Keith.

If you don’t like him now, no worries. He’ll wait until you do.

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Repairing a boo boo.

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There’s always something that needs to be repaired at Casa River, and sometimes that something is the Barn Mahal porch.

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For some reason ( read – crazy Maine weather, massive frost heaves and lack of gutters ) one section of the porch lifted over the years with the result being smashed and then rotted wood under the corner post.

A cousin was called to assist… as there was heavy lifting required and yours truly sucks at that.

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I also suck at not exclaiming WTF! when I go outside to check on the repair progress.

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I doubt that set up was OSHA approved… but it did the job and supported the roof while the post was removed.

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Rotted wood.

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Please note I am not standing on the porch to take pictures.

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Rotted wood replaced….

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Corner post cut and reseated.

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With a hammer, because fine tuning was required.

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And yes, it’s a bit crooked now.

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But my bat was rehung and the roof is still over our heads… so I’m calling it good.

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Antiquing in the Lakes Region

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A beautiful Maine summer day demands a road trip to the lakes…

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Long Lake, pictured here, is in the Sebago Lakes region of our state with the western mountains rising in the distance. The lakeside village of Naples is charming, and perfect for leisurely strolling with random stops to enjoy the views… unless you’re my husband who drove straight through on his way to a store in Windham called the Den of Antiquities.

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This is the view he prefers.

It was a great store with a converted pre Civil War era barn. Treasure was abundant.

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Like this fabulous old slot machine. Please note at $3,950 the price was not even close to fabulous.

Vintage white enamel bed pan used as a display container? Now that’s fabulous.

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I’m still hunting for vintage wooden beer or whisky crates to house my vinyl collection and thought I’d hit the motherload here..

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But in all those boxes, there wasn’t one alcohol related piece of wood in the bunch. Oh sure, I could have bought this …

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But who wants their records stashed in a giant box of rubbers?

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This crate had promise… it said it housed a dozen quarts which denotes liquid, but for the life of me I couldn’t make out the name. Google search came up empty as did all the other customers I asked. Even the owner didn’t have a clue. We shifted it every which way trying to decipher the lettering to no avail. I was struggling to understand what the hell ‘Caitus Guhs’ was when the owner had a eureka moment and figured it out.

Can you?

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