Why vintage?
A couple days ago, my nephew asked a very simple question: “Why do you like vintage stuff so much?”
I thought we all did, but he “doesn’t like old stuff.” When I was his age I couldn’t get enough of the “old stuff” - I still can’t get enough of it now. It’s in my blood at this point, but how did I learn to love it?
Way back when, all the way back to the 1980’s and 90’s, I though the coolest thing to do on a warm summer weekend morning was hop in the truck and go to yard sales with my dad, John. The timbre tone of his voice would echo throughout the house as he gathered his wallet and keys, “Who wants to go for a drive down the hill?”
Before he could put on his uniform of a baseball cap over his curly mop of hair I’d scramble to jump off the couch, ignore the episode of Saved By the Bell, and run to put on my sneakers. “I’m ready!” I’d holler from the edge of the kitchen counter by the door that exits into the garage for the routine check in with mom: a series of questions that came every weekend.
I looked forward to watching this exchange between my parents; married in 1971 (just a couple years after Love v. Virginia), have been each other’s best friend since the moment they met. Dad was black, Mom is white, and I am their daughter: an independent woman running her own business for the first time at age 40. I learned it all from watching them.
Dad would ask, “What can I get you while I’m out?” Mom might ask for basics, “Could you pick up a stick of butter…if you don’t mind could you stop and get dinner on your way home in case I don’t feel like cooking, but call first to see what we want to eat.. oh, nothing…we’re fine…you two just go an enjoy yourselves…maybe a danish and some brownies from the bakery?”
Anything the homebodies wanted would be delivered in a matter of hours, with extras and treats that only dad could think of, “We could stop and get the good maple syrup at the Orchard…”
Each decision was made with the gut, no agenda, no plan.
We’d hop in the truck, usually a 1988 Chevrolet Silverado wagon, silver with green detailed stripes adorning its sides, and tune to NPR for either two men talking about cars, or the latest news of the day. Depending on which truck, the static’s volume that followed every moment of public radio corresponded directly with the age of the vehicle. On Route 8 in Harwinton in the Blazer - it’s only the mountains lining each side of the narrowing highway as it snakes through the valley and a static that must have preceded white noise’s effectiveness.
A few miles away and we’re on the hunt; that last one wasn’t good, let’s head out to Farmington, should we go to Torrington? Each signal turn, each bright yellow yard sign is a gut feeling - a decision made in the moment and with a common consensus - “Let’s at least go and check it out.” Our gut feeling would become more and more hopeful as the day went on.
Vintage furniture and home pieces are more than just a thing to look at from the couch while you avert your eyes from your small screen, then back up to the large screen and again until it’s time for bed. What we surround ourselves with has a monumental influence on our wellbeing, and the best part is we are in control. We can shift the view, shift perspective for better and more joyful outlooks. They’re a part of our history; it’s the childhood memories, the core ones that center on the color of your Nana’s landline in the kitchen, a lamp your Grandfather used to read by, or a fabric pattern that reminds you of vacations on the coast.
The list is endless. And it’s personal as all hell.
Sourcing these pieces lights my days, scouring through the items once treasured by strangers of every different lifestyle, learning their personal histories and understanding the importance of “home” at each estate.
My greatest joy (so far) in this work is the moment that a piece reaches its rightful owner. Each item belongs to a certain place and time, and to an individual’s experience. It’s personal, and it matters. It can remind one of times cherished, loved ones that we’ve lost, lives we once lived. Vintage can bring us back to life, and allows us to tip our hats to our ancestors, to give thanks and be grateful for the present.
Marcianne Timm
