At the Flea Market

When I told Adam I wanted to go to the flea market, he told me to get ready for a redneck experience. Um, isn't that part of the appeal of flea markets? The odd collections, the airbrush t-shirts, the old men in overalls?

I hoisted the one year old into the sling and the three of us spent Saturday morning wandering around the flea market (our yard sale is postponed to next week). Periodically I'd mutter something about wishing we had a record player or $65 for one of those beautiful blue bottles or a chicken coop. I'd love to have some chickens, especially after reading the latest issue of Organic Gardening (I'm not exactly sure how, but we have a subscription), but like so many things, it's not in the cards right now.

We left with some produce and a free coffee table, which I've sanded and primed and plan to paint with antique glaze. It should be a nice addition to the living room when all is said and done.