We spent most of last week in Brimfield MA, at the gi-normous thrice annual Brimfield antiques fair, a conglomeration of a dozen or so different antique shows held in dusty close proximity on Rt. 20 in this little town.  I shopped the Tuesday shows and then we set up and sold on Wednesday, at Hertan’s field.  The weather was great, attendance was high and the sales were very good.  We stayed over and shopped May’s when it opened on Thursday morning, and then headed for home.  It was a tiring but fun week – lots of walking, lots of looking.  At one point Tuesday afternoon I felt I couldn’t take in any more visual information – I was overloaded.  But a glass of wine, a decent dinner and a good night’s sleep was all I needed, and I was ready for more each morning. 

We didn’t find as much to buy as I hoped.  There were lots of things I wanted to buy, but seeing as how we say this is a “business”, I was limited to things I thought I could sell for more than I paid.  Oh, well.  But we did buy things – on Tuesday I found some jewelry, a pierced porcelain compote, a really cool food dome with screening and a pair of sreetlight covers. 

On Thursday morning, Steve and I waited on line to get into May’s when the bell rang, and we were eager to find something great.  We had a funny limitation, however.  Because our van was packed pretty full, we could only buy things that were little, like jewelry, or something big and hardy enough to be tied on the roof.  It ruled out a surprising number of items – no table lamps, no upholstered anything (we were expecting rain that afternoon.)   Nope, it was baubles or cupboards for us.  So of course we didn’t find either one.  Steve bought some great enamel numbers, originally from a gas station sign.  They were bigger than the rule, but at least they were flat. 

And I found my game.   I was charmed from the start – I love the early little slide-lid box, and the multitude of figural sticks, all carved into depictions of various objects – guns, spears, shovels, knives, a hand, a dog, snakes and more.  I assume this game is some variation on pick-up sticks, and I would love to know who made it and for whom.  Can’t you picture a grandfather, in his chair on the porch, whittling these wonderful pieces one by one.  The grandchildren watch him and clamor to play with them, but aren’t allowed until the whole set is finished.  His wife brings him a cold glass of lemonade, and he surprises her with a stick carved into the shape of a heart…

Okay, obviously I have no idea who made these or under what circumstances.  But that is part of my love for antique folk art - its obvious and emphatic handmade-ness allows my imagination to wander down the paths of farmsteads and villages, in and out of families and relationships, enjoying the anonymous individuals who left their craft for me to appreciate. 

So, without further ado, here are some pictures of my little treasure: