When I was a little girl, my grandparents on my father’s side had a sweet little summer cottage in Humarock, Massachusetts. My parents would load the six of us into the unseat-belted station wagon (with the two youngest in the way-back, directly over the exhaust pipe) a couple of times a summer, and while the adults visited, we would ran wild and free.
I loved Humarock because the cottages were so close together, and it was just steps to the beach. My grandparents spoke Italian, as did most of their neighbors, and the melody of the language kept the sandy street humming with activity. Actually, what word is louder than humming? The women (and I remember them all as very old and very buxom – shit, I’m beginning to look a little too much like my old ancestors) would stand at their kitchen windows or on their screened in porches and yell to each other. It was loud and very effective way to communicate with all of the neighbors. I remember our times in Humarock as safe, loud, and sandy.
This past yard sale weekend, by following signs, instead of my newspaper, I ended up in the sweetest, most beautiful beach community. The area still had the cottage community charm, while it was obvious that many of the houses were now homes instead of insulation-free vacation spots. They were close to each other and the beach, and many of them were covered in pink tea roses and surrounded by hydrangeas. (My two favorite flowers.) The wooden steps to the beach were rickety, and the narrow streets were crowded. People jogging, pushing strollers, carrying beach chairs, and little ones riding their bikes – a perfect little sea side picture and community.
Trying to get out of that sweet community wasn’t easy. I was lost, but spying another sign took the edge off of the immediacy of my dilemma. Pulling over, I noticed lots and lots of books; ah, the perfect way to end my shopping day. While sales can let you down, books seldom do. (People, please listen – 4 smelly, rusty, things that you called antiques and a box of stained baby clothes – that is not a yard sale!)
Humor and memoirs, horticulture and history – this was a great sale! As one of the only visitors at the time, I asked the woman if she would point to one or two of her favorites. I love learning about books this way, and people who love to read like reliving and sharing their favorites.
The more animated our book conversation, the more I added to my already teetering pile. I finally thought to ask how much the books were. No matter how good they were, they still had to be a reasonable price for me to purchase all, most, or some of them.
“They are free,” she said.
FREE? Are you kidding me? These books, these great novels, these unconditional companions, these hours of pleasure treasure are free? I almost wet myself.
As we talked, she told me that she does this “sale” every year and on the same weekend. People come to get books, but they also can bring their own to swap out. As if to illustrate her last sentence, I noticed a group of people with arm loads of books making their way to her house.
New people kept asking for prices, and she excused herself to go get her free sign.
While I had my moment discussing books with her, I wanted more. She was so open, warm, and generous, that I really wanted to invite her to my house for a glass of wine or a cup of coffee. People don’t really do that much anymore, do they? Our houses are farther apart, we don’t really know our neighbors, and we are all so busy trying to live our lives as best we can.
I love those sweet and unexpected gifts from the universe: childhood beach memories, meeting a new, kindred spirit, and being part of such a loving and generous event – that is what I call a satisfying Saturday.
Now if I can just find my way out of here….
