It has been suggested from time to time that our house is like a museum. We have a considerable amount of antiques. Most of them came to us as hand-me-downs from our family. There is an old spinning wheel that is from the colonial times. An organ that reportedly came over from Wales. Tables, chairs, trunks, dressers handed down from our ancestors over the some 400 years they have been in this country. I have a collection of old saddles from my dad and his dad. We have glassware. It sparks our interest in those odds and ends from a time gone by. And that’s why we like to visit antique shops in the towns along our travels. Brings back memories and identification with those who are no longer with us.
Those places are often off the beaten trail, or hidden among the cities. One such place is the Depot at Gibson Mill in Concord, NC. It’s full of interesting relics from the past. Hidden treasures that people didn’t want anymore. Walking up to the Depot is a large Sinclair Oil Dino sign that was popular in the 1950s and beyond. This one had survived target practice of a not-so-accurate shooter. It looked as though the shooter got frustrated at not being able to hit the broad side of a brontosaurus, so he finally took a close range shot at what he thought was Dino’s heart. It reminded me of our trip out West through Wyoming in 1963, where we saw not only Dino in signs, but also in a real life likeness as a tourist attraction.
Inside, there were rows and rows of various antiques and memorabilia. It was a trip down memory lane. Clocks and real metal toy tractors and trucks. A Quaker State Oil barrel and competing gas pumps from a Shell station—very similar to the ones we had at my dad’s oil delivery business by the farm. And I remember well pumping gas as a kid for the local farmers at, yes, 26 cents a gallon! And I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the old Texaco Fire Chief brand—You may remember the slogan, “You can trust your car to the man who wears the star—the big, bright Texaco star!” That could have been a take away from the many gas stations out West who would offer to check your oil and use the opportunity to find (cause) a problem with your car that they needed to fix. Dad taught me to check my own oil.
As we walked, Chris was in knick-knack heaven. Me, being a tightwad Welshman, didn’t want a shopping cart because I didn’t want to encourage bringing more stuff home in our RV. Eventually, I was defeated by the Belle of the Ball, a rabbit sugar container, a pair of English Staffordshire Spaniels, and various other treasures stuffed in her pockets and mine. At the checkout counter, the lady held back a knowing smile as we emptied out the endless menagerie being rang up at the feet of an antique cash register. And so it goes for the museums of our lives—both at home and on the road. The Proverb says, “There is desirable treasure and oil in the dwelling of the wise, but a foolish man squanders it.” We must be pretty wise and ever growing in wisdom. Take the time to remember the good things that bring wisdom in your travels.
