Hello again from Dusty Old Thing. This morning we'd like to show a few of the photos that have recently been shared with us by our readers and explain why we like them. As most everyone knows, at Dusty we primarily view the "value" of an object in terms of what it means, not what it could bring at auction. We love seeing the association of "things" with family members long gone, with stories, with history, with their role in our material culture. We love seeing "things" beautifully displayed, even simple things that were, once long ago, finely crafted. We love stories of "rescues", of finding things no one else wanted. We do love stories of the "fun of the hunt", of adventures on the road on antiquing trips.
To us "value" is in the heart, in the eye, in the stories that have been, or could be, told. Thanks go to Shelley, Cindy and Carol for sharing these photos with us all.
We love seeing family pieces with photos of the people who owned them. It makes the story rich; we can start to imagine their lives and times that were so very different than own own. With wedding rings and watches and little pins we can imagine how precious they were then, the hours of work that went into their purchase, the care that was taken of them through the years.
We can see the artistry in this early foot pushed tricycle. It even has it's little bell. We can imagine the toddlers who played on it. It's hard to believe that someone trashed it but so good that Cindy rescued it. We love seeing pieces like this especially when they are displayed simply.
Many of us remember walking down to a country store in our youth and getting a cold drink from a cooler like this. Maybe it was while we were visiting grandparents. Maybe we walked barefooted to show our country cousins we could do it. Maybe the road was dusty and the drink so wonderfully cold. Maybe it just cost a nickel or a dime and we got the money from a grandparent who gave us a chore that really was half adventure. Maybe on the way to the store we saw a snake. Maybe we had to cross another road where the tar was melting in the summer sun. Maybe we got the hot tar on our feet and it dried before we got home. Maybe old men sat on the porch of the store and exchanged old stories. Maybe you were identified by whose grandchild you were and they'd always ask how everyone was and give instructions to say that so-and-so said "hey". Now the store's gone and we have largely forgotten the amazing coldness of a drink from a cooler like this one...on a very hot and dusty summer day.