Field Notes: Estate Sale Haul, Sept 16, 2026

This week's hunt started with a message from a woman who found me through social media. She and her sister were getting ready to hold an estate sale at their parents' home. She'd seen my posts, thought I might be interested, and sent me some photos along with the sale dates. I looked at the pictures.

I zoomed in. I spotted several things I clearly “needed.” And then I did what any reasonable person would do. I asked: “Is there any way I could come before the sale starts?” Her response? “We would love for you to come early!”

Well. YOU DO NOT HAVE TO ASK ME TWICE.

So Wednesday afternoon, I headed a little over an hour from home, picked up a friend along the way because she also suffers from an inability to resist a good estate sale, and off we went. And when we arrived? THE ENTIRE HOUSE WAS OURS TO SHOP. No crowd. No line. No one standing six inches behind me waiting to see what I put down. I could get used to this.

The Estate Sale Haul

First up: Locker Baskets. There were eight old metal locker baskets. Did I need eight? That is not the question. The question was: Could I leave any of them behind? Obviously not. I felt slightly ridiculous asking for a bundle price when the sale hadn't even technically started yet, but if I'm taking all eight, I'm going to ask. They agreed to my offer. All eight came home with me. This trip was already going well.

Then came the ironstone, which was one of the reasons I'd made the drive in the first place. I found a wonderfully crazed and stained ironstone pitcher—the kind of piece where every stain and crackle in the glaze makes it even better. I also picked up a stack of butter pats, a couple of soap dishes and four little creamers. Basically, I found the ironstone and began gathering. As one does.

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  stoneware mini pitcher

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  stoneware creamers

Then I spotted a fantastic old cast-iron match safe with a hunting scene, probably around 100 years old. Yes, please.

A brass wall-mounted ship's bell with gorgeous patina—and an even better ring. Into the pile.

And a pink Harker Ware Cameo mixing bowl that looks like the 1950s walked into a kitchen and said: “We're going to need more pink.” Sold.

Then came the dependable little things I almost always seem to find: an old tea tin, a small metal tricycle, a Rook game, a tiny easel cleverly made from old nails, a little unmarked pottery piece, a glass trinket box a glass door knob and a small Fiesta pitcher.

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But I also bought a couple of things outside my normal lane. One was an old Continental Fence sign, made by Continental Steel Co. of Kokomo, Indiana. With my booth at Pipe Creek Mercantile in Peru, the local connection made that one particularly fun. Then there was a tiny can of Marathon VEP 10W30 motor oil. Do I sell a lot of vintage motor oil cans? No. Did this one have great graphics? Case closed.

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And then we reached the things that may never make it into the booth. I found a beautiful Art Nouveau vide-poche, essentially a small calling-card or trinket tray. Mine.

And then this sweet little F.W. Devoe watercolor paint tin, roughly 100 years old, complete with two of its original brushes still inside. I'm sorry, but that's not inventory. That needs to live at my house. I don't make the rules.

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And then there was the table.

I'd asked about an enamel-top table shortly after seeing it in the original photos. It was probably from the 1930s or '40s, in fantastic condition, and I loved it. There was just one problem. It was priced at about what I thought I could sell it for. And despite what my behavior sometimes suggests, I am attempting to operate a business here. So I told the sisters that if it didn't sell, I'd be happy to come back after the sale and make them an offer. Fair enough. We finished shopping.

They started totaling everything. And then they told me they'd talked it over. Would I take the table for a lower price? There are moments in life when one must remain calm, professional and measured. This was not one of them. YES. YES, I WOULD. And just to make the whole afternoon even better, these two sweet women carried it out of the house and helped load it for me. I drove more than an hour because someone who follows Junk Is My Life thought, “She might like some of this stuff.” She was correct. Very, very correct.

And that's one of my favorite things about doing this. You never quite know where the next message, handwritten sign, back road or invitation is going to lead. Sometimes it leads to eight locker baskets. Sometimes it leads to a 100-year-old watercolor tin. And sometimes it leads to an enamel-top table you had already convinced yourself you weren't buying.

Take the back road. Find the good junk.

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