I was one of those with a coffee, an oatmeal cookie and a stack of antique books when a man asked if I liked antiques. From there and a little conversation later, Darrell and I ended up with a $3,000 truck load of antiques. This young man had inherited a shop inventory from his mom and decided against opening a shop himself.

His mom had amazing antiques collected over the years, and he had worked in imports earlier in his career, buying pottery from the orient.

Among this collection of lamps, wooden gears, skeletan keys, pens, pottery—Van Briggle to Ming Dynasty—china, cloth dolls, art, jewelry and a myriad of things, was a collection of postcards. He handed them to me delicately, without touching the art, with his hands facing forward in robot fashion, so that only the inside of his palms touched the outside border edge of the cards.

As we went over the inventory, he would pronounce it’s value. The postcards rang up at $200. When we tallied the list of antiques, the sum was $3,000. He was delighted and we were numb.

We didn’t haggle or ask questions about the prices. We trusted him and deemed him the authority on value having worked in the industry. What were we thinking? Fast forward: We have been selling this inventory on eBay for over two years. Many of the pristine, expensive items are still listed for sale.

Fortunately, this young man was generous and wished us well. Along with the boat load of antiques we bought, he gave us two trunk load of tools. We have sold frog gigs, pitchforks, bicycle seats, horse shoes and goat bells all over the world and have made more money on the free items then we could have imagined.

We have learned much about the world around us and American history from researching all of the incredible items he sold us that day, and we look forward to having a great conversation with him whenever we hit Barnes and Nobles!

I thought my husband knew me better than to put a frog in the toilet, but one was there. After rescuing it, Darrell, being a true photographer, rushed it upstairs to his studio and took a photo of it. As you can see from the photo, it was an unwilling subject. Darrell had the 70-200 lens on his camera, and it was impossible to get a photo between hops.

The mystery remains, how did the frog get into our toilet. My husband reasons that the frog is so small that it came up through the drain hole in the shower and hopped into the toilet. Sure. Another theory, Mr. Frog came in through vent pipes underneath the sink and was on a pile of plastic bags I stash under the sink so that when Darrell carried the bags into the bathroom, he had this secret stow away frog.

We know that Mr. Frog didn’t ring the doorbell and come in through the front door. And he hadn’t been hopping around our house earlier because we would have noticed him, however diminutive.

He’s now back in the great outdoors. We believe in catch and release!

Darrell said it was a little chorus frog or cricket frog, and that it measured about an inch in length. He can sail through the air with each hop and he has suction cup-type feet, perfect for toilet bowl entry.

I missed seeing Mr. Frog in the toilet, which would have been funny! Almost as funny as my husband asking me if I had put a frog in the toilet…
Mr. Frog did not have a secret entrance into our house. Rather he came in with the groceries. Darrell likes to grocery shop in the wee hours when Wal-Mart is deserted. When he carried the groceries in, Mr. Frog saw an opportunity and followed the light. The way we know this? It happened a second time!

My husband boxed the antlers and brought them to me  for postage. On the hand-off he started laughing. There was a family story behind them, unbeknown to me. The antlers were his fathers from a hunting outing in the Arkansas Ozarks. It wasn’t one of those bragging stories but a funny story told by his hunting companion.

Darrell’s father was an sportsman who loved fishing and hunting, and always for food: trout, turtle, frog legs, squirrel, rabbit, deer, pheasant, turkey, venison, moose, etc.

He was on a steep hillside when he shot the deer. He chased it down and sat astride it to slit the neck to bleed it. When he did, the muscles on the deer contracted and the deer leaped enough to land his father on a rolling deer down the hillside. It was a funny site and somewhat of a first so that Ralph came home with the deer but his friend came home with the story.

On July 25, 2010, both of my family trees converged in Wisconsin for reunion picnics.

The hotel where we camped out served a so-so breakfast, but on our second day in DeForest, we enjoyed the best-ever breakfast at the DeForest Family Restaurant where the waitress proclaims, “You eat it or wear it” and where menu items marked ACE  signals “All You Can Eat.”

I ordered the vegetable omelet, which came with hash browns and toast or pancake. I went with the pancake so light and fluffy that eating it made you love life.

Darrell had the DeForest Breakfast Plate heaped with two eggs sunny-side up, sausage, bacon, hash browns and toast. The restaurant used prime ingredients, and Darrell pronounced the bacon and sausage links the best ever.

The atmosphere in the restaurant was hometown friendly. Patrons arrived with the Sunday newspaper tucked under their arms, looking forward to a good read over coffee and breakfast. They talked cars and called the waitresses by name.

My one disappointment with the restaurant was not spotting a single pair of bib overalls. I had to count the man in wide suspenders for my overalls sighting. I had seen a Wisconsin fisherman back at the hotel wearing a tee-shirt that read, “Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy—Benjamin Franklin.” Not a quote out of the text books, but a truism by Ben nevertheless and a good testament that I was in a state that had a long-running love affair with beer…. still, no overalls?

Being born and raised in Wisconsin back in the 40s and 50s, there are a few minimal things I expect to encounter on a trip back home—overalls, cheese, beer, and cows. I had my first disappointment with a devoid of overalls. The next disappointment was not seeing pastures filled with cows. I don’t know where Wisconsin is hiding its cows. It is the Dairy State.

We’re treading on sacred ground when we don’t see cows in Wisconsin. The state was so famous for its dairy industry in the 50’s that Walt Disney packed up his Mouseketeers and brought them all the way from Florida to Wisconsin to film Adventures in Dairyland.

I remember how proud Iwas as I watched the Mouseketeers romp around a farm just like my Uncle Sam and Aunt Ann’s, where I spent my summers in Wisconsin. (I could never decide whether Darlene or Annette was my favorite Mouseketeer.) Where is Wisconsin getting all the milk they need for their famous cheeses and dairy products?

I did shop at the best ever cheese store, Ehlenbach’s Cheese Chalet, located across from our hotel. If you want superb cheeses and the best cow souvenirs ever or one of those famous  cheesey CheeseHead hats, you need to stop by the next time you are in DeForest, Wis.

Although I didn’t spot my fill of cows in Wisconsin, I did see fields of  windmills, a sign that the Dairy State has gone green.

Rare Rauenstein bisque and composition doll  

This boo-hoo incident no doubt has happened to other hapless eBayers. We sold one doll and shipped another. 

All Bisque Rauenstein Doll

This bisque and composition doll from the Rauenstein porcelain factory is 6-inches tall. Markings include: R /22 and the Rauenstein upside down crossed double “ff” trademark.

The Buyer has a stack of four historical buckets in the Gathering Room of her English cottage, all of which she bought from America. She says the bottom two firkins in the stack actually have copper nails, and the amazing dough bowl hanging above the firkins dates from the early 1900s.

Her husband built a prim bucket cupboard in her Gathering Room that holds five firkins  in varying sizes. All of these came from America as well. They all have the copper staples. Two don’t have lids, but she says, “I love them anyway.”
She restored the largest firkin sitting on top of the cupboard. To do so, she removed layers and layers of varnish to get the bucket back to its natural state and then waxed it. She has been collecting firkins for three years, and has others “dotted around the cottage.”

“Firkin” is very British and fun to Google on itself. My firkin, now on its way to England, is an old oak bucket made by a craftsman from another generation with bent and cut wood, stayed with copper staples. It’s a great feeling to find a caretaker of something made with American pride, and it would be fun to telegraph back to that craftsman a thank-you for his fine work. It was an adventure selling this firkin, first taking a photo of it last winter in the snow and then packing it up today and kissing it goodby to England!

Beautiful white bells of the Yucca in bloom

We moved from Illinois to the ozarks 34 years ago, and a yucca  plant  was waiting to surprise us. It stood proudly at the edge of the yard, the centerpiece of a 12-foot, circular rock garden.The original home owner had planted the yucca with great southern charm. Her rock garden didn’t just happen: it was designed. I could see a black, plastic sheet peeking out from underneath, which she laid down first to protect her rocks from the weeds. She built her garden on top of that. Next, a  huge layer of “river rocks” (medium-sized stones from nearby creeks or river beds) that she edged with flagstones, laid on their sides, pointing to the sky.
To  keep the yucca company, she added two clay pots planted with “hens and chickens.” Finally, she added one more signature element that is totally genuine ozark—driftwood. There were several well-appointed pieces of driftwood from a nearby lake or river–the Buffalo River or White River or possibly  Bull Schoals or Table Rock Lake.
Through the years, I can say that neighter the yucca nor the rock garden have gotten much love from my family. Had the garden not been planted so carefully planted, we probably would have dug it up years ago and planted grass. My daughter Wendy thought the yucca was more properly named “yucka,” which she pronounced ”YUCK—a” with a decided pause between the “yuck” and the “aaa.” (Wendy’s  more into roses, and has planted hundreds of rose bushes through the years. The first thing she does when she moves is unpacks. Next, she orders rose bushes.)
I first fell in love with the yucca three years ago when I was putting up the bird bath nearby and glanced over at the yucca. Glancing back at me was a beautiful, young, green garden snake curled around the yucca stalk. I love nature at her finest, and I was so glad the little snake had bonded with my yucca. I catch a glimpse of the yucca everytime I’m at the kitchen sink, and now it’s like spotting a good friend from a distance.
This is it’s prettiest time of the year for the yucca, and these are the prettiest photos Darrell has ever taken of it in bloom.
About the yucca, I never thought someone might want one, but it just could be my next money-making scheme since I found out how easy it is to root a new one.
It’s a Bear Grass Yucca. It has long, pointed gold and green leaves. Spikes of flowers rise from the center when it blooms. The flowers are shaped like little white bells tapering up and down the flower stalks. And they smell sweet!

Inheriting the yucca is like finding out the old vase you inherited is a Van Briggle or a George Ohr. It took a long time for me to embrace the yucca because I’m from the land up north of top soil, and I never knew the beauty of a “rock garden.”

Note on Wendy and the rock garden: Last Mother’s Day, the children came with lawn mowers, clippers, rakes, and hoes, to spruce up the yard for me, and Wendy and her husband Greg tended the rock garden. She was pruning and weeding with such joy that I think she, too, now loves our rock garden!

This is my first post. I hope to carry on a conversation with collectors and sellers of antiques  and collectibles. My posts will include my saga on eBay along with photos and information from a vast knowledge of antique dolls and toys, which my husband, Darrell, and I have squeezed into three years, eBay style.

Along the way we have met some amazing friends and made some amazing mistakes. I thought a blog was perfect for sharing  stories and information.

We sought an appraisal from Just Art Pottery before listing it on eBay, but the piece did not qualify for a serious appraisal with it being a Studio piece from an unknown artist. Therefore, the value of the piece rests in the eye of the beholder.

We recommend Just Art Pottery for appraisals as Greg was forthright with immediate communication. He returned our appraisal fee immediately since the piece could not be appraised with a comparative value. He described the bowl as Studio Pottery from 1960 or later.

The base of this lovely bowl bears the signature of “Anna Moore.” If anyone is acquainted with Anna’s pottery, please send me some info. Thanks!

Moore’s console bowl reminds me of the VanBriggle Tulip Bowl, but more stylized and with an elegance that frames itself in space. If  Greg at Just Art Pottery is correct in dating the piece circa 1960, that would put Anna Moore as an artisan after  the Anne and Artus Van Briggle duo from the early 1900′s.

Tulip Bowl on eBay

Artus founded Van Briggle Art Pottery in 1901 in Colorado Springs, Colo., and in 1902, Artus VanBriggle married Anne Louise (née Gregory). Together they established hundreds of Art Nouveau styles of pottery under the Van Briggle name. The pottery of Artus Van Briggle became world reknown for its glazes and form.