Ok, so if you watch American Pickers...I KNOW you have heard Mike say that about a billion times.
Does it bug you as much as it does me?? He really needs to find a new phrase. It is like nails on a chalkboard to me now.
Ugh. I can't belive I found it coming out of my mouth earlier this week.
Here is a little background that leads up to the story I am about to tell.
I have so many facets to my crazy life. Some day soon...when my shows are over for the summer and I actually have more than 10 minutes to compose a blog post one measly time a week, you will see I am a girl of constant contradictions. I love to get my hands dirty, but I get a mani-pedi every other Wednesday. I am happy digging around in a barn of old junk...but I may have designer jeans on when I am doing it. You will find I have a serious case of wanderlust and actually spend oodles of time cruising backroads looking at cool old farmhouses and barns. I love them. They remind me of home.
Once in a while....I fancy myself to be a "picker"...but I didn't know that was even a term until I saw the show. You know the show on the History Channel...with these two guys...
Anyway, I am quite at home in the 'small farm scenario' so I rather like stopping when I see someone outside. More times than not, they are more than happy to let you poke around their outbuildings and I love...I mean TOTALLY LOVE when a cute old farmer shakes his head at me when I ask to buy a crusty old table I found buried under stacks of old feed sacks in his barn. The head shake is usually followed by a "Sweetie you can just have it...if a cute young thing like you is willing to crawl around in the dirt the way you do, you deserve to have it".
Well, that is when I know that poor man has spent waaay too many years working in the hot sun, because I am neither cute or young. So I have no choice to force cash on him, because the guilt would kill me slowly if I just took things I knew to be treasures.
During these little adventures, I climb over 100 year old machinery...through tiny spots to get into a hayloft that hasn't seen footprints in 50 years...I have even met an angry mama racoon or two that set up camp a little too close to crates of gorgeous vintage milk bottles I just had to have!
Very rarely do I come across a barn that is set up as nicely as I found this one. Primed and ready for the pickin'! The dirty part was already done. But it was no nearly as fun, I have to admit.
Anyway, I am quite at home in the 'small farm scenario' so I rather like stopping when I see someone outside. More times than not, they are more than happy to let you poke around their outbuildings and I love...I mean TOTALLY LOVE when a cute old farmer shakes his head at me when I ask to buy a crusty old table I found buried under stacks of old feed sacks in his barn. The head shake is usually followed by a "Sweetie you can just have it...if a cute young thing like you is willing to crawl around in the dirt the way you do, you deserve to have it".
Well, that is when I know that poor man has spent waaay too many years working in the hot sun, because I am neither cute or young. So I have no choice to force cash on him, because the guilt would kill me slowly if I just took things I knew to be treasures.
During these little adventures, I climb over 100 year old machinery...through tiny spots to get into a hayloft that hasn't seen footprints in 50 years...I have even met an angry mama racoon or two that set up camp a little too close to crates of gorgeous vintage milk bottles I just had to have!
Very rarely do I come across a barn that is set up as nicely as I found this one. Primed and ready for the pickin'! The dirty part was already done. But it was no nearly as fun, I have to admit.
I have met some of the sweetest people on the Earth during my adventures. Truly good people. The salt of the Earth, as they say. There is nothing I love more than a farmer that has worked his life with his hands so we can have food on our table and his wife that daily wears an apron faded from 40 years of baking bread and making meals. I take away good memories of each and every one of them.
But the other day...one of those farmers from rural Iowa called my bluff.
I had already "picked" their barn, you see. I found doors with old pink peely paint...two gorgeous old farm tables...a green glass bottle pile that made my head spin...you get it. Good stuff.
But today...he didn't want me to pick the barn.
Nope.
He wanted me to take the WHOLE barn.
(ok, actually it is a corn crib, but for this post I am going to call it a barn.)
Whaaaaat?????
Ummm...yeah..That is exactly what I was thinking when he asked me.
But, before I knew it...the words just flew out of my mouth.
"I'll pop on that!"
Again...Whaaaaat did I just say?
What the heck am I going to do with a barn?
Well, take it apart piece by piece, apparently. You see, it is coming down...either in flames...or by my hands.
It kills me to see a barn come down. They seem to be dropping like flies. Replaced by the new metal versions that I know are so much more functional and efficent, but I just don't love them like I do an old wood one. It won't have the smells...or the creaking floors...or the rafters you can see bits of sunlight peeking through. So, I guess it is up to me to let this barn live on...even if it is piece by piece.
So, this girl is going to have to get an extra manicure...because I have a feeling my french tips are going to be chipped. I have rounded up friends and family, bought enough hammers and pry-bars to go around and we are going to grill out, make some margaritas and have a barn-tearing-down party!
So here is the question I have for all of you.
What in the world am I going to do with old barn wood that has white paint on it...gates...barn doors...everything in the photos is soon going to be owned by me.
And I have no idea what I am going to do with it.
Do I build furniture?
Make signs?
Use the doors and gates around my house?
Sell it?
I am here to pick your brain.
And I hope to grow one of my own...because this idea was just plain crazy!
But the other day...one of those farmers from rural Iowa called my bluff.
I had already "picked" their barn, you see. I found doors with old pink peely paint...two gorgeous old farm tables...a green glass bottle pile that made my head spin...you get it. Good stuff.
But today...he didn't want me to pick the barn.
Nope.
He wanted me to take the WHOLE barn.
(ok, actually it is a corn crib, but for this post I am going to call it a barn.)
Whaaaaat?????
Ummm...yeah..That is exactly what I was thinking when he asked me.
But, before I knew it...the words just flew out of my mouth.
"I'll pop on that!"
Again...Whaaaaat did I just say?
What the heck am I going to do with a barn?
Well, take it apart piece by piece, apparently. You see, it is coming down...either in flames...or by my hands.
It kills me to see a barn come down. They seem to be dropping like flies. Replaced by the new metal versions that I know are so much more functional and efficent, but I just don't love them like I do an old wood one. It won't have the smells...or the creaking floors...or the rafters you can see bits of sunlight peeking through. So, I guess it is up to me to let this barn live on...even if it is piece by piece.
So, this girl is going to have to get an extra manicure...because I have a feeling my french tips are going to be chipped. I have rounded up friends and family, bought enough hammers and pry-bars to go around and we are going to grill out, make some margaritas and have a barn-tearing-down party!
So here is the question I have for all of you.
What in the world am I going to do with old barn wood that has white paint on it...gates...barn doors...everything in the photos is soon going to be owned by me.
And I have no idea what I am going to do with it.
Do I build furniture?
Make signs?
Sell it?
I am here to pick your brain.
And I hope to grow one of my own...because this idea was just plain crazy!
