THE ERRORS WE HATE TO ADMIT, AND THE SUFFERING IN SILENCE, EXCEPT FOR THE SOUND OF HEADS HITTING OUR DESKS
ANTIQUE DEALERS AND COLLECTORS COULD PUT TOGETHER QUITE A BOOK ON THE ERRORS OF THEIR WAYS
I have collected heritage oil lamps since my first year of university. I got this collecting bug from Gord Smith, the father of my then girlfriend Gail, the same lass who introduced me to Muskoka's country auctions. Gord had a really nice collection of old farm style oil lamps, that would have graced some of those big old kitchens, mixing the scents of coal oil with frying bacon and eggs in the cookstove skillet. Mix in the woodsmoke and the soft, glorious illumination of a tall lamp, positioned on one of those huge sideboards partnering the harvest table, with another lamp glowing in the middle. I digress.
On special occasions, such as at Christmas, Gord would light his twenty or so lamps, some very elaborate and with colored glass, most a century old at least. The glow was enchanting to a wide-eyed rookie collector, and the smell of burning coal oil put me back in that rustic homestead; the warmth of the lamps was comforting on a cold winter's eve, and I really enjoyed the ambience it created in the large room they were situated. It was very contenting just sitting, and admiring, the way the glass of the old lamps glistened in the wavering, soft illumination, against the gloom of a bitter night, framed by the background window pane. I was hooked. I would even keep an oil lamp, on my desk, when I was living at the former home, and medical office, of Bracebridge's doctor, Peter McGibbon, on Manitoba Street, and I'd often write in the wee hours in the attic loft, looking down on the grounds of neighboring Memorial Park. I even had friends tell me, they saw me working late, and that they had seen the oil lamp, still glowing well past midnight. So we've established where I got my bug for collecting old glass, especially vintage oil lamps. So what was the big mistake then, of buying them at estate sales and auctions?
Well, it didn't actually matter where I bought them, or that I may have even acquired some in trades over the counter; it was condition that confounded me on a few occasions. First of all, with antique glass, it is expected there will be flaws in the surface, that appear, at first glance, to be cracks. They're usually not cracks but it depends where the flaws are on the glass piece. I've had lots of people tell me that they would love to buy a vintage glass vase, or covered dish, if it didn't have the cracks. I think this may be the most frequent comment when dealing with old glass, and the reason many untutored buyers will avoid buying these items; which for us, is a sure-fire way to authenticate antique glass. Bubbles in the glass are also good indicators of old glass, except of course, some glassworks have tried to imitate the flaws in newer glass, to give the antique appearance. In old clear glass oil lamps, it's common to find these embedded lines, and bubbles from top to bottom, and can even be visible in old shades which are obviously hard to find, because they were so thick in composition, often broken by mishandling.
I actually learned about these flaws in cheaper glass, such as common sealer jars, by close scrutiny over many years of collecting them; I had a small collection of neat old "Crown" jars, that were badly flawed and misshapen. But glass houses knew how to avoid these flaws, to produce their better quality manufactured pieces, with higher prices in catalogues for general merchants. Sealer jars and common oil lamps were produced in great quantity, for the masses, and cost was a fact even then, so perfection wasn't as important on some the low budget catalogue inventory. I used to trace the flaws and feel the way they were etched into the glass. So there really wasn't any excuse for misunderstanding the differences between flaws in the glass, cracks and hairline fractures. I got taught a lesson about taking short cuts in due diligence. A sidebar here, is that in these very old sealer jars, there is a great danger, in using them as they were intended more than a century ago. I have talked with quite a few collectors, who know the possibility of these "bubble flaw" air pockets breaking away on the inside of the jars, and sending glass particles into the preserved food stored inside. The bubble flaws closer to the surface glass, either on the inside or outside - mostly beneath a very thin coating of glass on the inside, can easily (even with the pressure from a finger) disintegrate into the stored contents. I have come upon many of these jars, especially with blue glass, where the pockets have already exploded, either under pressure of sterilizing, or by repeated washing. I have actually cut my finger on the rough edges of the glass border left exposed, after the bubble of the glass crumbled away; sometimes into the food stored in the affected jar. Not good for the digestive system whatsoever.
I purchased a beautiful old farm "clear glass" oil lamp, which at that early stage of my collection, was the tallest of the twenty I had accumulated. It was loaded with all types of flaws, but the more the merrier as far as I was concerned. When I got it home, I disassembled the appliance, (burner), and removed the wick so I could install a brand new one that would reduce the smoke from the burning oil. An uneven wick can cause an inefficient burning of the flame, and some smoking that will leave a residue of soot in your house. I filled the reservoir with oil, and fastened it all back together. When I refill these lamps, I always wait a period of time, before lighting them. First of all, I want to make sure all the oil that may have spilled over the edge, or got trapped in the depression some old lamps have, on the top of the reservoir, and that may have actually dripped down the outside onto whatever its sits upon. I was thorough. I just forgot one thing. I could never forget it thereafter. It would become family legend, about the time my oil lamp ruined an heirloom table cloth belonging to Suzanne's family. One of many misadventures in my married life.
I put it on the harvest table, you see, but made sure first of all, to lift a large section of Suzanne's very, very old, lace table-cloth, just until any trace of oil I hadn't dried away, had evaporated on its own. When I was out of the room, Suzanne came in, and seeing the folded-back table cloth, decided she couldn't live with the way I had set down the lamp. We always have at least four oil lamps at any one time, on the harvest table. So she lifted it up, and pulled the cloth back over the wood surface of the old table. When I walked into the room, I yelled at her to grab up the lamp, in front of her, in case the residue oil got into the lace. So she picked it up, and set it down on an old book I had also put on the corner of the table; momentarily I might add. The she started to yell at me, because there was as clear penetration of oil obvious in the lace; the undetected leak had even left droplets on the table itself. I got to her as quickly as possible, to try and save the table cloth, but I had to move the lamp and the book first, in order to put together a sensible emergency response, which was going to involve immediate washing of the damaged covering. When I lifted the lamp off the book, I nearly fainted. There was an oil ring on the cover of my book. My heart was racing, as it was a hundred dollar book, and a hundred dollar table covering now seriously devaluated.
I put the oil lamp on the kitchen counter, and Suzanne and I tried to clean up the mess the best we could, but not really understanding what had happened. First of all, I had been safety minded, by first sitting it on the bare wood of the old table, just in case something like this was to occur. It (the table) had so many coats of varnish, that it would have repelled almost anything except fire. I should have kept it on the counter regardless, but it was something I had done many times in the past without consequence. I eventually went to check the lamp, which by this time, had created a large puddle of coal oil, that had now begun dripping off the edge onto the floor, where the cats were staring at it making yet another stain. Here's the poop. What I had assumed was a flaw on the base of the reservoir, amongst so many other imperfections, was actually a crack, that had penetrated right through the glass, allowing the oil to drain out of its containment. By the way, the first rule for checking out flaws like this, and eliminating the possibility they might actually be cracks instead, is to fill the vessel with water, and sit it on a piece of paper towel for about an hour. If I had done this, I would have saved a nice old table cloth and a vintage book, both seriously diminished in antique value, because of ugly oil stains. Suzanne berated me for weeks over that one, although I had to point out, that it was her actions, which had caused the crisis. If she had just left the lamp on the bare table top, I would have returned and spotted the pooled oil on the top, before it could seep into anything else on top. It was kind of a draw, in this sense, and one of those immersion things, that eventually help us become more astute antique buyers. I goofed buying this lamp. I was able to repair the crack so that I could still use the lamp for personal advantage, but there was no way I could sell it, because of the potential it would cause problems for someone else down the road, who didn't understand the difference between a crack in the glass and flaws in the glass. This is a little tricky when you're out and around, and might feel a little awkward about taking a glass piece into a washroom to fill it full of water. What we do, is simply ask for permission, and let the dealer handle the request; it might lead to a sale if it doesn't leak. The vendor should always make sure to check this out before putting it in the shop, and if it does have a crack, and won't hold its contents, then it should be indicated as such, on the price tag. The "buyer beware" advisory, usually pertaining to other kinds of sales, that are less formal than actual antique shop protocols. It doesn't take much time to test these antique pieces out, to make sure, a similar incident won't occur in your house, as it did in mine.
I've got to learn quite a bit about vintage sewing machines, because of Suzanne's interest in building a collection of portables, many on display in our Gravenhurst shop. So I do know about the checks that are needed, when we find a neat old portable machine, at one of our favourite haunts, while in the midst of one of our typical hunt and gather adventures. It is really important to make sure, all the parts that are supposed to be attached to the sewing machine are there, before you make the purchase; unless you're an expert at restorations, and you're only buying it to scavenge parts. Antique sewing machine parts are expensive to repurchase, and we should know! Yes, we've been victims of our own spontaneous buying, only to find out, at home, that a key part, say, for example, an unusually sized bobbin, for a rare machine, is missing from the unit. It cost us seventy five dollars to replace one, and thankfully someone marketing sewing machine parts, on ebay, had one to fit our unit, which was an "Opel," made in Germany by the same manufacturer, as the automobile by the same name. We came across a nice looking sewing machine, the other day, in a regional shop, and although it was priced to high to then refurbish and re-sell, the biggest disadvantage that we caught, right off the bat, was that it was missing a key component. This type of portable machine, made by the Singer Company, did not operate with a connected foot pedal but instead, with a knee-pressure bar (knee lever), which should have been anchored in the top of the protective latch-down carrying case. This shortfall should have been obvious to the market vendor, as there is no pedal, and no other way to engage the machine to sew. The hole in the side of the case, and into the iron platform of the machine, is where the separate knee lever must be inserted before the machine can be activated. Without it, well, the machine is non-functioning, and nothing more than an ornament. Obviously the vendor doesn't sew, because if they did, the price tag would have noted this deficiency, in the machine's ability to sew something. The bar you, see, is pushed by the sewer's knee, which makes the electric connection to the machine.
The price of one of these knee-levers, can be as much as eighty-dollars in American funds, and you can check this out on ebay, where there are lots of sewing machines parts up for sale. Thus, it will take additional money to get a working machine, after the original purchase price. If an experience sewer or collector was to buy the unit, obviously they would factor into the price situation, the replacement knee-lever; or possibly they would have snapped up parts like this from other scrap machines. There is the potential that someone might buy the sewing machine however, and realize too late that something was missing, that brought movement to an otherwise frozen machine. I very seldom buy sewing machines on my own for obvious reasons. I have a closet full of pants and shirts that don't fit, because I am one of those dumb-ass chaps, who won't try clothes on before I buy them. Yes, I am prone to buying first, and finding out just how negligent I've been, soon after; when Suzanne finds missing pieces of the puzzle I thought was complete. She can sleuth-out my errors in judgement with great ease, and with a tell tale smile I really don't like.
Then there's the tool, dealer or flea market vendor, who damn well knows a teapot or teacup handle, has been reglued, and should not be sold without clear identification that it is being offered "as is," and that it has been "repaired." There are lots of potential buyers who may not be able to see a hairline crack on the bottom side of a handle, even after being reglued. The "buyer beware" aspect won't hold-up in court, if purchases the tea pot (or cup), and then is seriously burned, when the glue is reduced by the heat of the tea, when the handle suddenly snaps off, everything else hitting either a lap, feet, the antique Persian carpet, or any pets that happen to be crossing below at the time of the accident. Been there, done that! I once bought a nice piece of Muskoka pottery at a flea market, that had been crafted by a friend of mine, and it matched the one we had broken a month or so previous. Suzanne cleaned it three or four times, to make sure it was safe to make tea in, but never lifted it full of hot liquid. On the last cleaning, while thankfully empty, she was lifting it to the drying rack from the sink, and the handle broke off in her hand. She got hit by flying bits of pottery, but thankfully, there was no injury as a result, other than a rapid heart beat for several moments, thinking of the "what ifs," associated. My friend the potter, would have chastised me for buying his work second hand, for this very reason; that he would guarantee this wouldn't happen on a new tea pot, freshly cooled from his studio kiln. Someone else had obviously mistreated the tea pot, the vendor sold us, and we believed we got a hell of a bargain for less than ten bucks, to replace a pot we had very much liked. Someone had done a great regluing job, in that the repair was almost invisible, and didn't feel as if it had been altered, when we examined it in the open air of the market. None of that matters in retrospect, other than it was a lesson learned. One of us, or our pets, could have been seriously burned because of a vendor's greed to turn a profit, totally oblivious to the potential of liability on her part. A bargain price is not always a good deal. It's what hard lessons, and financial loss have taught us in the antique and collectable trade. Buyers should always "be aware," without having to be told as much.
COOKERY HERITAGE TASTES GOOD TOO
THE ADVENTURE TO FIND HANDWRITTEN RECIPES….WHAT KIND OF HOLY GRAIL IS THIS?
IT'S FUNNY HOW, OVER A LIFETIME IN THE COLLECTING / ANTIQUE ENTERPRISE, YOU CAN SUDDENLY CHANGE INTERESTS, AND IN MANY CASES, QUITE PROFOUNDLY. THE WAYS AND VALUES OF THE PAST, ARE LIKE GAS PRICES; SUBJECT TO EXTREME CHANGE.
WHILE I MIGHT PRESUME TO KNOW, I CAN'T REALLY SPEAK FOR ANY ONE ELSE, IN THIS REGARD. FOR ME IT HAD EVERYTHING TO DO WITH LACK OF FOCUS AND MONEY. EVEN AS A KID, I COLLECTED RANDOM SHINY OBJECTS THAT CAUGHT MY ATTENTION AT THE MOMENT. I WOULD COLLECT RELATED ITEMS FOR AWHILE, BEFORE SOMETHING ELSE TURNED MY CRANK. I LIKED A LOT OF STUFF. IF I'D HAD A RICH FAMILY, WHO LAVISHED THEIR KID WITH POCKETS-FULL OF MONEY, THEN UNQUESTIONABLY, MY COLLECTIONS WOULD HAVE BEEN EXTENSIVE, VERSUS MINOR AND SOMEWHAT UNREMARKABLE. BUT I WAS AS HAPPY AS A LARK, TO BE HUSTLING AROUND ON THE CHEAP, LOOKING FOR STUFF TO BRING HOME TO OUR SMALL ABODE. IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN A HALF DOZEN BROKEN HOCKEY STICKS, USED BY SENIOR HOCKEY PLAYERS, IN BURLINGTON, ONTARIO, WHERE I SPENT MY EARLY YEARS, OR SOME REALLY NEAT HATS I SCOFFED FROM THE "LOST AND FOUND" BINS AT THE ARENA. I HAD NO BOUNDARY, EXCEPT THE FACT MY MOTHER WOULD INTERCEPT ANYTHING THAT APPEAR UNSANITARY, BEING SNUCK PAST THE FRONT DOOR. HALF THE TIME, USUALLY WITH SOAKERS AND MUDDY TROUSERS, I DIDN'T MAKE THE LIST EITHER, AND AS MERLE USED TO QUIP, "YOU LOOK LIKE A MUDLARK," FROM A CLASSIC BOOK, BY THE WAY. A LOT OF MY EARLY TREASURES, THE MODEST COLLECTIONS BEING BOLSTERED ON A DAILY BASIS, WERE CHUCKED-OUT BY MY STALWART MOTHER, WHO INSISTED THAT NEATNESS, WAS WHAT GOD WANTED MOST FROM HUMANITY. NOT NECESSARILY WORLD PEACE. NEATNESS. SHE DUSTED A VENEER COFFEE TABLE FOUR TIMES A DAY, UNTIL IT REFLECTED LIKE A MIRROR. IT WAS WORTH $15 WHEN SHE BOUGHT IT, AND IT WAS WORTH $4 AT THE END OF HER LIFE. FOR ALL THAT POLISHING, I THOUGHT IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN WORTH MUCH MORE. IT WAS A DARK VENEER BUT IT WAS SO BEAUTIFULLY POLISHED, YOU COULD SEE THE PORES OF YOUR SKIN. IT WAS A PRETTY PIECE TO HER, SO THE ACTUAL VALUE DIDN'T MATTER. JUST LIKE MY OLD BROKEN HOCKEY STICKS HAD MEANING TO ME.
We're all susceptible to the influences of the world around us. Events in our lives. In November 1963, a lot of non-collectors became collectors because of one internationally important news event. The assassination of President Kennedy. All of a sudden, people who had never contemplated collecting anything more than cash in the bank, started hanging onto newspapers, magazines and books that came out immediately after the tragic event. People thought it was important to collect these news materials…..for themselves and for their kids, and grandkids. Many other world events have struck a similar chord, and whether it is Royalty memorabilia, or news of celebrity deaths, war, and trips to the moon, and sundry other adventures in outer space, we have collected those related momentous. There are collectors of hair, dental appliances and actual teeth that have belonged to celebrities, including Elvis and John Lennon. There are collectors of autographs, photographs, clothing with provenance, Scottish tartans, folk art, stamps, coins, shrunken heads and taxidermy ducks, loons, moose and deer heads. Big fish and little fish, and a wide array of other critters that have been carefully and artfully preserved. I've read about those who collect funerary materials, including antique coffins (some with windows), and of course, elaborate horse drawn hearses. Good for them. Point is, there's no limit. I love being involved in a lifestyle and business that has so much open territory to explore…..sort of a Peter Fonda, Dennis Hopper "Easy Rider," kind of liberation. An open road and an open mind.
I was old enough to appreciate the entire span of the 1960's, and while I never really took to the Timothy Leary "tune in, turn on, tune out" thing, I was very curious about the hippy movement, the rapidly evolving rock 'n roll scene, and the revolution of the social / political culture of the time. I had a few records and an unreliable turn-table, and I did appreciate the whole liberating, anti-war sentiment; the "peace" movement and free love seemed worthwhile things to join. Yet no matter how much I got into the music, the psychedelics of the period, it just never rubbed off on me, that I should collect any of the relevant materials associated with this time in history. Instead, I became very much enamored with the pioneer, homesteading period, I had experienced, traveling with my parents in both Canada and United States….who insisted on taking me to a wide range of historic sites, from battlefields and old forts, to a former Jesuit Mission, from the early 1600's, in the community of Midland, Ontario. I liked the ambience….the woodsmoke, the patina of antique furnishings, and yes, the scent of old fuel-burning lamps that I found so wonderfully intoxicating. Thus the strangeness of the collector, to follow any set-down plan or rule, imposed by another. I'd go home and listen to Janis Joplin, and stare at my Easy Rider poster, and look at souvenir guide books from my favorite historic sites. It's been a life-long confluence of special interests, full of contradictions, and I suppose, a few wrong turns at Robert Johnson's haunted crossroads. For the life of me, I can't really explain, all the stuff that has influenced me, to bypass some obviously keen collecting interests, to then, suddenly change direction, to latch-on instead, to obscure collectibles, such as handwritten recipes. Here it is, 2012, and I'm still mired in the early history of Canada and the United States, loving the whole pioneer thing (I have two illuminated coal oil lamps on my desk, right now), but my two lads, Andrew and Robert, both musicians, are heading into their sixth successful year, operating a main street vintage music and collectible shop, selling restore antique instruments, from guitars to accordions, and the kind of 1960's and 70's memorabilia I should have been interested in…..but wasn't. I guess that's what happened. I transferred my latent interest to these guys, who surround themselves every day of their lives, with what I lived through….."my actuality" that I must have celebrated rather passively I'm afraid. I did grow my hair long, and owned several pairs of bell bottom pants, and I almost got to Woodstock. My mother said one of those motherly things, as I was preparing to jump into a Volkswagon love-van. "Over my dead body." The only way I was going, was to kill her. Seeing as I'm a career pacifist, who has a hard time killing insects, and loving Merle, well, I just watched the news reports and listened to the music of the day on our favorite radio station….."Chum am" of Toronto.
The other great influence I still deal with as a collector / dealer, with a few miles on the rubber, is the expense factor. I've never known a period locally, in our bailiwick of Ontario, when there have been more collector / dealers buzzing around the sale circuit. Online auctions have created many of what we used to call "attic dealers," (part time dealers) and so many antique roadshow-type television shows, have inspired lots of folks to enter the collecting game…..and the "buy / sell" of antiques and collectibles. The more competition? The greater the hustle! The more the demand, yup, vendors start to get the message, there's lots of room for price increases. Even as I write this, I'm actually bumping-up, not only interest, but potentially the asking prices, for second hand shop inventory. Boy, I'm fond of myself, aren't I? Well, it's like this. In this region, known as the District of Muskoka, I personally know every shop manager, and virtually all the staff at the small number of antique stores, thrift shops, second hand and flea market outlets; and of course large outlets such as the Gravenhurst Habitat for Humanity Re-Store, of which I'm a fixture most days of the week. They all know I write antique related columns for provincial publications, as well as this blogsite. I certainly don't mind them following along with my editorials, but it does create new realities for management. Enlightenment in a nutshell. Seeing as I am always willing to give an appraisal to shops that raise funds for the less fortunate, like the Salvation Army, I encourage them to price sensibly, proportionally to condition, and with the knowledge that many, many of their regular customers are collector / dealers, who are shoppers four seasons out of the year……not just summer time patrons. Over-pricing these folks out of the market is bad business. While it may take some of the big, big bargains away, very few collectors will argue about sensible price increases, based on researched valuations. Every now and again, however, some newly appointed manager will become an antique dealer without having earned the stripes first, and make all kinds of ridiculous price increases that turn good customers…..into fleeing patrons. I will gladly offer my expertise in general pricing, and provide more in-depth research, if it means these folks will lighten up on the fantasy valuations.
Price and its escalation has most definitely played a role in my own collecting interests, since I began as a dealer back in the late 1970's. I was always broke. But I wanted to collect. I also got the idea I should make some money on general antiques I came upon, for a good price, but didn't have any great affection. I have sold many pairs of vintage skates, for example, from simple blades on a wood base, strapped to boots, all the way up to low rise leather-boot skates, to quite a few pair of vintage speed skates. Son Andrew has quite a large skate collection now, that I have helped him develop. Point is, I have always had to shift interests because frankly, many collectibles I was interested in, were too rich on a reporter's wage. Even when we opened our first Currie family shop, in Bracebridge, Ontario, back in 1977, I had to get deals on everything we purchased, most of it requiring refinishing, just to eke out a small profit. The second shop I opened, was with my wife Suzanne, in the late 1980's, and we still had the same necessity of bargain hunting as a rule. I'd work at the shop through the day, and refinish tables and dressers in the evening, and on Sundays, when in fact, I should have been camping with the boys, or taking them fishing. Ah, the rigors of the antique trade. The chosen excesses of the free market! How many have made similar sacrifices to turn a profit?
By being frugal and a well-tutored collector, I have been fortunate to find what I like, and always what I needed, for competitive prices, and always in ample quantity. This is where vintage handwritten recipes come into play. I most recently paid thirty dollars, if memory serves, for an early 1900's recipe book from our region. It was a good price for what I was able to harvest from it, not just in recipes, but as a story-line for a future article in a monthly magazine I write for, known as "Curious; The Tourist Guide," that you can access online. I have also photographed quite a number of pages and published them on my Muskoka Cookery Heritage blog site. If we were solicited to do a cookery display, as we sometimes are asked as regional historians, I would proudly display this rare cookbook. Point is, the cost of that little book was high, for my budget, as are many regional recipe collections from the 1800's and early years of the 1900's…..based on supply and demand. We have sold many rare and out-of-print cookbooks through on-line auctions, and I can't believe the enormous prices they can attract. Suzanne and I, with our interest in the handwritten recipes, often contained in those cookbooks, most definitely benefit from the general lack of interest in collecting them for fun or for profit. Tell you what! If I published images of what these beautifully penned, hundred year old (plus) recipes looked like, matted and framed (under glass), I might soon start a rigorous price war, and a brand new trend in collecting. I have only framed a dozen or so, always with conservation (acid free) as a main concern…..and they can always be removed if needed. Hung in a retro-design or antique-laden kitchen……they would look fabulous. I'm not an interior decorator, but these bits and bobbs of cookery heritage, are both "pretty faces," and social / cultural icons….and the gravy and icing stains are provenance to be celebrated. In restaurants, especially ones looking to capture the tradition of culinary arts, these would make wonderful conversation pieces. I just prefer, at the present, to enjoy them in our safe folios.
For the price of one rare, vintage, typeset, fair condition cookbook, I could probably acquire about five pounds of handwritten recipes, from flea markets, yards sales and second hand shops, and never leave the region of Muskoka. This by the way, is what we have attempted to do, from the historical side of the equation. We wanted a regionally reflective collection, and while it doesn't mean the recipes were all inspired by the region, dating back to the 1850's, we wanted it to be representative of the population of folks who settled here……..their cultural and ethnic backgrounds of significance to the historians……more than just the "collector us." It's quite remarkable, in fact, to research through the piles of interesting recipes, spotting the significant changes to traditional fare, to suit what was grown, and available in the region as substitute (eg. herbs and spices) ingredients. Plus finding other attachments of provenance, such as a family's location in the district, and ancestral relation to Europe, especially where settlers emigrated from, most actively, during the period of the free land grant period, shortly after Canadian Confederation, in 1867. Each time we settle down to look through these interesting recipes, all pieces of culinary folkart, we find something different, quite unique and historic. A recipe Suzanne will attempt in her modern kitchen, adapting measurements used in the 1800's with what is standard today. We must be people who are easily fascinated…..because these very inexpensive acquisitions, satisfy our collecting interests, and motivate us as historians, to interpret and highlight them whenever an opportunity arises. Not as exciting as collecting Railroad and Ship memorabilia, medical-use skeletons, fossils or sculptures, but it works for us as a retiring couple, who love kitchen lore, cookery memorabilia, vintage food advertising, and did we mention…..food. My wife has made me what I am today. And I'm on a diet because of it. You see I can write this, because I know she won't read my blogs. In fact, since we were married, she has full knowledge I'm a writer but just doesn't care. We do share the joy and adventures in the antique profession however, and that's all we need. Don't let her know, for my sake, that I've just now accused her of fattening me up. I've got a good and satisfying life here at Birch Hollow. It hinges on me keeping my mouth shut about certain matrimonial situations……like me needing to diet, so I can indulge evermore at Easter.
Thanks so much for joining today's antique / collectible blog. More to come.
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