Brimfield

Brimfield. Another year. I can't even tell you at this point how many times I've been. The trips have blended into one another. And the stuff! It all starts to look the same, but yet I keep going back. Why? The crowds are manageable, the weather cool and comfortable and there is an endless and wild amount of things to look at and poke through. Plus it's just fun to be outside for the day walking about. 

Arriving is always a bit overwhelming and at some point you just have to dig right in. My husband is better at this than I am. I tend to circle the field we're in and then go back and try to focus in on something. At first, if it wasn't a collection of artfully displayed items, then forget it. There was no focus. It was a serious case of sensory overload. Ha! 

But eventually I find my groove, something catches my eye and I fall into a rhythm all my own. At this point I start to wander off with purpose. Eyeing this and that.

Although there is a good part of the day where I'm still unsure of why I came and if there is anything I even really want.

Some things call my name, but with no real desire to own it. Just to glance at it for a while, touch it, and take lots of pictures. The guy selling these Union Jack chairs got a little chuckle out of my snapping photos of these from every angle. That's truly where a big part of the joy is. Just being. Creating a little bit of art among art...

...and drooling over some of the same things year after year. Tents like this always draw me in. It's a guaranteed stop. 

And then I ask, 'Honey, can you make me one of these?' The poor man! These clocks are there every year and are so overpriced ($5k and it's brand new and the quality is so so), but I look anyway. The right one, will come across my path, at the right time. I've learned there is no hurry. 

By the end of the day I was loopy, laughing and plum tired. This Superman tricked me three times -- each time out of the corner of my eye I thought he was real. When we drive away, I can't help but think who buys all these bizarre things, not to mention the person who drives around the country trying to sell them. Oh, the wonders of Brimfield.