“You want to go to Robert’s?” she asks, with a look of excitement flashing in her eyes.
My mother waits patiently for my answer. Of course it’s going to be a yes! Always is.
Robert’s is our local secondhand store. It’s no boutique, yet it's a treasure trove in its own right. Between the piles of bent cookie cutters and stained fabrics carrying the faintest hints of past lives, there are gems waiting for you to uncover. And when I say “you”—I mean my mother, Robyn.
Robyn has an uncanny eye for spotting valuable items amidst what many would dismiss as junk. While I may walk out with an armful of hopeful projects, she emerges with one or two valuable gems that everyone else overlooked. What is this gift she has, and how did she acquire it? One may never know, but the proof is in the pudding.
Our family home resembles a museum, a curated collection of eras and stories, each item with a narrative steeped in history. Downstairs, a room brims with art and eclectic frames, a testament to decades of patient sifting and keen insight. “How do you find these things amidst the junk?” I ask. She simply replies, “I did a lot of research.” But I know it's more than that. It's something passed along to her from from her mother, Patricia, and likely from generations before.
I cannot confidently say I inherited her tenacity for research but I was gifted with what she calls the “eye of a hawk”—the ability to spot the special amidst the mundane. This trait came to life vividly at 8 years old during a trip to England where I stumbled
upon a small, worn metal ball in the woods. “I think you found a musket ball, Meg!” she exclaimed. It wasn't just in England; my training began as a younger child.
I recall long days by Newfound Lake in NH, where she spun tales of buried treasures, surreptitiously burying coins for me to find, fostering both imagination and observation and a habit of always keeping my eyes on the ground. And when I spent a Semester in the Southwest as a college student visiting Ancestral Puebloan ruins, I spied a small shell dawning a tiny drilled hole nestled in the sand underneath a pile of ruin rubble. A piece of jewelry from thousands of years, having traveled thousands of miles to end up in the Utah wilderness in my sight. And don't get me started on the potsherds discovered in Creede, Colorado! I recognize now that I've inherited quite a gifted eye from my mom.
This deep-seated passion for uncovering the unique and the historical naturally evolved into a shared venture. As we mulled over our countless excursions to Robert’s and other hidden local nooks brimming with forgotten tales, the idea of turning our hobby into a business seemed almost inevitable. Thus, our online vintage shop was born—a joint endeavor that not only harnesses our collective skills but also celebrates our bond. Every item we curate carries a piece of our journey, our dialogue with history and each other.
This Mother’s Day, I reflect deeply on how much of me is crafted from the snippets of wisdom and traits passed down from my mom. Our online vintage shop is more than a business—it’s a continuation of this legacy, a place where each item is infused with a story, perhaps not unlike those my mother has helped me uncover throughout my life.
To everyone celebrating today, whether your mother figure is near or has passed, remember and cherish the traits they've woven into the fabric of your being. And to those who share this journey of discovery with us, we invite you to explore our collection and find a piece of history to call your own. Perhaps, in doing so, you'll reconnect with memories of your own mentors.
Happy Mother’s Day to all, and a special thanks to my mom, Robyn, whose vision sees beyond the surface, teaching me to find treasure in the forgotten.
Happy hunting,
Megan
Comments