My vinyl collection is calling for a few more vintage whisky/beer crates so I twisted the husband’s arm and we spent a day antiquing. (You know that’s a lie. He was probably warming up the car while I was still in the shower)
On the way we had lunch at a little farm to table cafe housed in what used to be the Home for the Feeble Minded. It was uninspiring, so no photos. But the grounds at what is now Pinelands Farm are impressive.
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As is their endless mile of fencing.
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Our first stop was a store in a barn. And a beautiful barn it was.
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On the grounds of the owner’s home, it was a lovely place to shop.
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I like our man cave, but found myself knee deep in vintage barn envy at this two hundred year old gem.
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Two full floors of treasure but no wooden crates.
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I was tempted to come home with the Special Scintillator…
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If for no other reason than the name. But the husband vetoed that purchase.
I have a large collection of vintage vinyl albums. It used to number close to 800, but I made the mistake of storing a large portion of them in my MIL’s attic years ago between moves and a leaky roof cut my collection in half. Today, after culling… it’s slightly over 350, and though they’ve been housed in plastic crates for the past 20 years, I recently decided they should be relocated to the man cave in vintage wooden beer or whiskey crates.
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Did I mention my albums are organized alphabetically?
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The Dewar’s scotch crate that I liberated from the husband’s stash (because if he’s not going to give it to the pub, he can give it to me) has A-B.
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When I pick up a few replacements here and there at flea markets?
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Adjustments must be made.
Pickwick Ale?
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C, D, E and F.
Those were the only two alcohol related crates my husband had in his crap treasure filled cellar, so I guess I’ll have to go antique shopping for G through Z.
The search for items to sell at a flea market continues and things are being belched up from the basement at an alarming rate. I don’t know if he’ll ever actually go through with this plan, but he certainly is enjoying the trips down memory lane.
Today’s treasure?
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The 1967 version of an adult party game. And judging from the look on that woman’s face, insufficient martinis were consumed before play began.
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The game is simple. 24 cards are placed on top of the feely box, you draw one… then reach inside to pull out the corresponding item.
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Yes, those are teenie tiny dentures. 1967 sounds like a blast.
We took a short break for lunch after getting the first half of stone stacked at home and then headed back out for the rest.
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Me.
Dirty, hot, and sweaty but smiling ear to ear because I was surrounded by rocks.
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While the yard man was picking up the second half of our stones with the forklift, my husband met a Marine. And if that wasn’t bad enough… he was also a fellow Vietnam Veteran. Much talking ensued. Sooo much talking. By the time they were done gabbing and ready to spread the rocks in the truck bed, the husband decided he didn’t want to go to the extra trouble and told the kid to just set it down as is.
I disagreed. Vocally and quite loudly. Naturally, I was ignored. I lamented hurting his new (old as dirt) truck and kept saying it wasn’t worth the risk of straining the engine and suspension. For that? I got ‘the look’. You know the one, the “how dare you question my manly logic?” look.
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We drove the 25 odd miles home on the back roads at 30mph with a squatted rear end and an overheating engine. The truck strained big time and we realized this second load was much closer to 2,000 lbs than the 1,500 we thought. 5 miles from home the temperature gauge was pegging out. I begged him to stop, but no. I swear at that point he would rather have blown his engine than admit I was right.
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We made it home, barely. With a smoking hood and a radiator that was literally boiling. I could hear it… he couldn’t (because he’s half deaf in one ear, thank you USMC) ergo it wasn’t happening.
Men!
You really are a ridiculous species.
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As the truck temperature came down from surface of the sun hot, we got back to work…
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And made a lovely little pyramid of stone. We’re definitely going to need another pallet or two to complete my vision of the perfect garden border. He says no, but trust me this is nowhere near enough.
Can’t say that I’m looking forward to another trip like that though.
After a full day of shopping for rocks…. the sheer joy of it made my heart sing!…. a decision was made and we returned the next day to make our purchase.
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I tried unsuccessfully to talk the husband into a few prime boulders…
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But settled for a pallet of fieldstone. Rule #1 of working with stone? If someone agrees to build you a garden border… don’t push your luck.
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Because the husband’s new (read – old as dirt) truck only has a a half ton capacity and a pallet weighs 3,000 lbs… I wanted to have the stone delivered. But the fee was $150 so my thrifty spouse wanted no part of that. The compromise? Split open the wire, divide the bundle and spread half the weight in the bed.
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This was hot, dirty work but we made the first trip home safely.
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And then stacked the rocks in the garden they’ll be bordering.
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1,500lbs of stone seems like a lot more when you have to keep moving them.
The search for rocks to build a new border for my defunct perennial bed is underway and I can’t tell you how thrilled I am.
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We went shopping…
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For rocks!
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Did I mention the aforementioned rocks are not cheap? Many rocks will be needed for this project so we drove around all day to multiple yards to compare prices.
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So.
Many.
Rocks!
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I think I died and went to heaven right on that spot.
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This will be our border. 1-3” fieldstone. 3,000 lbs a pallet.. and at $458 per it was the cheapest we found. The bed is 10’x20’ … I say we’ll need two pallets , maybe 3 for a finished bed border… the husband says we’ll start with one.
Silly man. Doesn’t he know you can never have too many rocks?
A good movie and bucket of popcorn dripping in melted butter makes me happy. A popcorn engagement ring? Not so much….
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My engagement ring… bought after we were married because we like to do things backwards…reflects a 38 year old paycheck and while fine quality, it isn’t even a carat. So 3.66? Sure. Sign me up.
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But a diamond that’s shaped and colored like buttered popcorn?
I saw something interesting advertised on Facebook the other day.
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It’s some kind of fruit filled bubble that bursts when dropped in cocktails and I thought hey… that might be fun for the man cave bar. Until I saw they were $25 per plus tax… and $24.95 shipping. Undeterred, I sought them on Amazon.
While I was a bit disappointed they didn’t have the same brand, I was tickled by the imposter bubbles’ name.
River's world..... 