Right up front, I must apologize for the quality of the photos.  I loaded these from scans back at home and did not realize until now that there was a problem.  I am here in France for a month without access to my original photos.  I will correct this when I get home.  For now, this will have to do.

Even from this lousy photo, I hope that you can see that this is a substantial birdcage. It stands about five feet tall, and is about three feet wide.  It is in two pieces.  It has carved hearts and diamonds, roof tiles and decorative trim.  All precisely made by someone who really knew what they were doing, and really loved birds.  There is even a little platform on the bottom which you assume was a place for the cat to sit to watch the birds.  It is magnificent in it’s design and construction. Built in the 1940’s.  A killer bird cage if ever there was one.  Something I couldn’t imagine even existed until I saw it.  So here’s the story.

My wife Jeanine is from the south west of France, and for years we would supplement our trips back and forth to visit her family by bringing over two very large suitcases full of fine linens which were easy to find in the Delhi area where we lived.  This because the area was settled largely by Belgians, Germans, and Hungarians coming to grow tobacco.  They brought a lot of beautiful stuff with them.  You could pick it up at yard sales and auctions for next to nothing.  Upon arrival in France we would go to a shop called “Au Bain Marie” near the stock market in Paris, and sell everything to them.  They always gave us good money because they would get top dollar.  It kind of blew our minds when we saw a very fine hand embroidered bed set of sheets and pillow cases for upwards of $1,000.  We would then take the money from the sale, and buy items we knew would be popular at home.  Mostly pottery, art, and forged iron items.   This was before all the repros hit the market and ruined everything.  Our two large suitcases would always pay for the trip and more.  It was a good system.

We saw lots of larger items that we knew would be popular back home but refrained from buying them, due to the hassle of arranging transport.  We would occasionally mail back a big box, but in general we stuck to things we could handle ourselves.

And so it came to pass that on one fateful trip we decided to take in one last antique show in the city of Bayonne the day before heading home.  We had a little space left in a suitcase and thought that perhaps we would find a couple more smalls.

Upon entering the hall, my jaw dropped as I saw this thing at the end of an row.  I couldn’t quite believe it was real.  At least I was hoping it wasn’t because I knew that if it was, I was in trouble.  My heart was already beating fast.  Damn if it didn’t just keep looking better the closer we came. In spite of myself, it quickly became one of those, “I must buy it no matter what” moments. Jeanine loved it too but was quick to point out that as it was so fine, it would be almost impossible to get home without damage.  I couldn’t accept this.  After a lot of pleading and persuading I was able to convince her that it would be worth any trouble we would have to go through.  The clincher was that we knew the dealer, and she said her husband would be able to make a box and arrange the transport.  We laid down the money which was substantial, and left feeling both elated and terrified.

A couple of days later, after getting home we got the call that we feared, that they were “terribly sorry but she had spoken out of hand, and there was no way they would be responsible for shipping.”  She offered to return our money, but we said no, keep it for us , and we will pack it and ship it ourselves on the next trip. 

So it was six months later that I borrowed Jeanine’s cousin’s pick up and brought it to the house.  My future son in law Anson was there with our daughter Cassandra and his engineering skills came in handy as we constructed the box that we hoped would bring it back in one piece.  Surprisingly, because it was light, it didn’t cost all that much to have it flown over.  We were full of apprehension as we arrived at the Toronto airport shipping warehouse, but there it was, looking just the same as when we had left it at the Biarritz airport in France. O.K. so we got it home.  Now the question was is anybody going to pay the hefty price tag which we would have to put on it.

The Port Carling show was the next week so rather than wait months for Bowmanville we thought we would give it a try.  Sure enough, on opening night some wealthy South Africans who had just bought a local cottage walked in, took one look, and said we’ll take it. No negotiation. They even bought a half dozen Wilfred Richard birds we had displayed in it in spite of the fact that they were about $600 each. Big sigh of relief.  Sometimes when you stick your neck out things work out.  Gratefully this was one of those times.

Loading the old Bell truck in Quebec

After our old Ford pick-up died I spotted the used Bell Telephone line truck pictured above and beside, at our local used car dealer. It was well maintained and had low mileage, and was equipped with dual wheels, 350 Chevy engine, solid rack above with ladder, and a directional spot light that I knew would come in handy when looking for house numbers while on delivery, .  It had lousy seats, but I could replaced those.  My dealer pal Ozzie gave me a good deal on it, and thus it became my second home. Back and forth, back and forth to Quebec.  On the plus side it was easy to load, reliable, and reasonably comfortable with the Volvo seats I had found. On the negative side it was quite noisy, and my bagged lunches would sometimes freeze in Quebec in the winter, in spite of the heater being on full blast.  I wore layers of long johns, and pants just to sustain.  I was a lot younger then.

So back and forth, back and forth, for about five years until one day early in September, just before school was going to start I left solo for a three day trip to Quebec, planning to return the night before our daughter Cassandra’s first day of school.  I believe that it was her last year, and I had managed to take a photo of her standing by the mailbox waiting for the bus every year since she had started Kindergarten.   “See you Sunday night”, “Safe trip”.

Everything went well in Quebec.  I bought a nice load, the weather was great, and it was a lovely Saturday morning as I started the ten hour trek home.  Everything was going along tickity-boo, until suddenly  just before Gananoque, Ontario the engine started to overheat. Damn. Not good, but at least I was able to get off soon and get into town where I pulled up in front of a rad shop.  They said they could put in a new rad for $400, and have me on my way pronto.  I was suspicious that I may have bigger problems than just an overheating rad, but they assured me that the old one was shot and the engine seemed fine otherwise.  ‘Okay, go for it, I’ll grab some lunch and be back in an hour.”  So a nice sandwich at a nearby cafe, and I return to find it ready. I had a bad feeling in my gut that I knew wasn’t my lunch , but I paid, and was doing my best to feel positive about still making it home as I jumped back on the 401. Well, wouldn’t you know it.  Not fifty miles down the road, RATS there it goes again.  This time I knew I was in trouble because it was a good ten miles to the next garage which would be in Kingston.

I drove on. I knew in my heart that the engine was toast so all I was hoping was to make it  to a garage where it could be pronounced dead and I could arranged for a proper burial. If I made it without a tow it would be great, and I may even be able to rent a truck and still make it home. Ever optimistic.  Pressing on.  So, it’s getting worse quickly.  The cab is full of steam, it’s starting to chug and lurch, putting out a plume of black smoke, in spite of my slow speed.   But at least I can see Kingston ahead, and there just on the other side of the tall bridge which I am about to climb I spot an Esso station with a big parking lot.  Yes, I think I can. I think I can. I’m going to make it because if  I can only get over the hump I can glide down with the help of gravity if necessary.  Then it happened.

There goes the damn warning bell, and the lights start flashing, and to my horror the gates are coming down and the bridge span is going up to allow the oncoming sailboat to pass.  A  final backfire that sounded like a shotgun blast, and she dies.  Right there, ten feet from the apex.  A classic so close, and yet so far.  I close my eyes and think about happier places, and when I open them the gates are up, the bridge span is back down,  and the traffic oncoming is moving . Meanwhile everybody who is behind me starts blowing their horn and swearing at me.  I mean I couldn’t hear them swearing but I could feel the burn. I sat there for a couple of minutes to compose myself, and then slowly got out and went to the car behind me, where the guy was frantically rolling up his window and locking his doors.  “Listen, I’m terribly sorry about this, but you can either sit there and blow your horn which accomplishes nothing, or you can get out of your car and help me push it over the hump, so I will be able to coast down to that parking lot”.  “Oh, O.K. buddy, we’ll give it a try” . Happily, the guy behind him was also a sport and so we soon had it over the hump and I was rolling madly down the steep decline, hoping to God that I didn’t have to stop for anyone while pulling into the parking lot.  I got lucky, and soon found myself  harboured safely in the parking lot, and I was on my way by foot to the phone booth I spotted by the Esso station.

“Hi Jeanine, listen I’m sorry to tell you that you are going to have to take that shot of Cassandra tomorrow morning, because the truck has died here in Kingston, and I will have to stay overnight to make arrangements, and rent a truck etc.”  “I’m so sorry.  Tell me how did this happen.  Are you O.K.? ”  Just then I spot a pick up truck stopped at the lights, which I recognized as Cellar Door Antiques with my friend Gary Dawdy at the wheel.   “Oh, gotta go, I’m fine.  I’ll call you later.” Click, and I’m off on a sprint to catch up to Gary before the lights change.  This was in the days when I could sprint.  Gary was noticeably surprised to see me banging on his passenger side window, and immediately opened the door.  “Hey, how’s it going Gary.  Listen I’m just wondering if you might be able to drop me at a truck rental place. You see my truck just died.”   “Sure, hop in but first I have to to pick up my daughter at school  because I just dropped Gale at the hospital as she’s gone into labour.” “Oh wow, Gary you’ve got bigger things on your mind.  Don’t worry about it, I’ll walk”  “No, no it’s fine, ride along with me and after I can take you to the rental.  This is planned and I am not needed back there for a little while.”  “Great, as long as I’m not stopping you from doing what you need to do.”

We road along happily, while I told him my tale of woe which suddenly seemed quite small in the overall scheme of things. “So what’s next, repair it or get a new truck?”  “Oh, a new truck for sure. It’s been good to me but I’m tired freezing in the winter. I want to get something like this actually. A pick up with a crew cab”  ” Really, well that’s interesting because I just ordered a new truck and so I guess I’ll be getting rid of this one.” “Hmm, well I guess I’m interested if you decide.”  “I’ve decided already and I’ll sell it  to you for what they offered me as trade in.  It’s been a great truck so I don’t mind selling it to you. Just let me call Gale to make sure she agrees”. “”Oh, I wouldn’t…”   Too late. I could hear Gale expressing quite clearly that she didn’t give a hoot what he did, and didn’t he realize that she had more important things happening right then, etc.. I paraphrase to protect the innocent.  Big smile.  “Well, she’s fine with it, so why don’t we pick up my daughter  and then we can go to your truck, and if you like we can transfer the load to this truck and you can drive it home, and try it out for a few days.  Next week is the Kelso show, so you can either bring it back to me if you choose not to buy it, or bring me the $4,000 and keep it. I’ll be fine, I’m taking my cube van anyways.”

Gary’s old truck, which became my new truck. The rack came later which is another story.

This is one of the strongest examples of serendipity I have experienced in my life, and a true testimony to just how decent people can be.   Within two hours we had picked up Gary and Gale’s daughter, gone back to my truck,  and after selling a couple of things to Gary we were able to load the rest on my “new” truck”, and he had called the tow truck to have the old girl towed away to it’s final resting place.  What a guy.  I was so grateful for his kindness, and to be on my way again.  I called Jeanine and lied that I was resting at the hotel and not to worry. I would be home sometime later the next day, so she was really surprised when I walked through the door five hours later.  Here’s the picture I took of Cassandra on her final first day of school.

Of course I loved the truck, and was happy to bring the money to Gary the following week.  My first experience with cruise control.  What an invention. I swear that if I had had this earlier I wouldn’t have screwed up my right leg, which I always said was due not  to the driving ten hours in a stretch, and then loading heavy objects, but rather the result of pushing on that dastardly stiff accelerator all that time.  And boy, once you’ve have a truck which is warm and cozy no matter what the weather;  you question just how daft you had to be to put up with freezing all those winters.  I never looked back.

My favourite truck came with this topper.