A couple of weekends ago, in addition to ne-phew Cody’s graduation was the Red River Valley Hwy 82 Yard Sale, which is exactly what it sounds like- a yard sale the length of Hwy 82 that deems itself the Red River Valley.
In spite of having some pretty good luck at garage sales –I found the most awesome light fixture for $10 this weekend!!!!- I’ve never really consider myself a garage sale person. For the most part they’ve always seemed sad to me. The sagging clothes line full of worn and out-of-date clothes, the card table stacked with knick-knacks and tchotchkes that someone bought for someone else, but that never really meant much to the receiver and the well-loved but out-grown toys and books lined up on the driveway have always made me a little gloomy.
I’ve only hosted one garage sale in my life. We made $300. I remember selling a lot of books. And I remember dragging a trailer full of stuff to the Salvation Army afterward because that’s the deal- everything must go.
This past weekend our youth group had its annual camp fundraiser Bus Barn Sale. They made over $3,000! Jack and I had planned to renege on a deal we’d made with the kids to split the proceeds of a personal garage sale to instead provide fodder for the fundraiser, but then Jack ran off with the storage keys and I wasn’t able to donate. Now we’re stuck with all this stuff and back to planning a sale on our own patch.
I’m thinking the weekend of Bordertown Days. That should provide a built-in clientele who will be walking through my yard anyway. Now to arrange tables, and pricing, and advertising and sorting and change boxes.
Garage sales are depressing.