My thoughts after attending the fall 2018 Christie Antique and Vintage Show

Posted on September 14, 2018 by shadflyguy

field1 “Canada’s favourite antique & vintage show with hundreds of dealers and almost 10 acres of treasures to be discovered. You’ll find china, jewellery, signs, tins, scientific instruments, folk art, postcards, native artifacts, Canadiana, fine art, nostalgia items, furniture and much, MUCH more! Food vendors onsite. Rain or shine. – you’re sure to find something to love!”

This is the way the Ontario Summer Fun Guide describes the Christie show and I think it’s accurate up to a point. You will find all the things listed above on the field. What they don’t include in the list and I feel should be, is reproductions: and it should be way up the list. Perhaps number one. The field is rife with them. And as you stand there and watch the crowd you realize how few people notice, or perhaps care for that matter, if they are buying a reproduction or not.

I saw a man ask the vendor as he lifted one of ten identical cast iron string holders, “so this is old, right. It looks old.” There’s ten of them sir. He bought it. I rest my case. I’m afraid that sounds elitist but I think it is a fair observation.

field4 This is sort of tragic in the way that a lot of what is happening to our society over the last while is tragic. Fake is as good as real, as long as it makes you feel good about yourself. If it’s cheap and it looks like an expensive thing, who cares? Well I care, and I think a lot of people care.

In the interest of education, and fairness for goodness sake, I think that show management should insist that every reproduction is a clearly indicated on the tag as “Reproduction”. That’s all. In fact a separate, uniform tag with “Reproduction” in big red letters would be best. I think it would make a world of difference, and there’s no down side. Those who don’t care will not begin to do so, those who know it is a repro will no longer be offended, and most importantly those who are in doubt will no longer feel as vulnerable, and will trust the system well enough to go ahead and purchase that item he or she “thinks” is an antique. If we have to accept that reproductions are a big part of our antique and vintage markets today, and I guess we do, then at the very least, label them as such. I would think that it is easy to make a strong case to the dealers that this is in their interest, and I doubt that it would even result in less sales. There’s still always going to be lots of people happy to buy a reproduction if it does the job for them.

The problem with continuing on the current course is that it eventually cheapens everything, and dumbs us all down to the point that it all becomes meaningless. On the field you can already feel that for many it is more of a shopping “experience” than it is an actual attempt to acquire an antique or vintage item. I didn’t see that many people actually carrying anything.

field3 Still, several dealers did tell me that they did o.k. I guess they’ve still got their regulars, and if you sell one or two strong items that can make your day. Also, I have to add that overall, people seemed to be having a good time, and there’s nothing wrong with that is there. It’s a lovely way to spend the day looking at things, eating some junk food (or better. They offer that now), chatting with friends, etc. But to get back to business, bottom line, if not enough enterprise is exchanged, the vendors will give up on it. As will the people.

If you go back ten years the Christie show was run by Jeff and Wendy Gadsden and there was no reproduction allowed. They policed it and would ask you to take down any reproduction they found. In those days the audience demanded this and would complain to the management if they found out they had bought a re-pop. Jeff would go with the offended purchaser and the dealer was confronted. It could get ugly. That seems a life- time ago and a world apart. Where has everyone gone who cared about quality and integrity? Wow, now I’m really sounding like a grumpy old man. But really. What happened? Did the I-phones and I-pads and the whole inter-whoop business melt all of our brains so quickly and completely. I can see I’m on a roll, so I will stop.

I notice that of my principal interests, folk art is number six on the list, and Canadiana comes in at number nine. That feels about right in terms of crowd interest. But it’s hard for those of us who know that for about twenty of the shows thirty years life span, Canadiana was definitely number one. They wouldn’t even let in folk art for the longest time.

Ah well. Not to despair. Change comes, and we never know what form it will take, or when. In the meantime, let’s do our best to keep our interests alive, and support the like-minded people involved as best we can. And let’s agree to label reproductions as reproductions. Some dealers would do it voluntarily if they weren’t afraid of losing their shirts. It’s really up to the show promoters to come up to the plate. I think it would really help this show, and furthermore labeling reproductions as such should be encouraged right across the industry. field2

All the usual suspects

Posted on August 3, 2018 by shadflyguy

As I have mentioned in a previous blog, we spent every Sunday for much of the 1980’s attending the Toronto Harbourfront Antique market. It was a very lively market in those days, and you could rely on hundreds of people to attend. Most of them serious buyers looking for a special decorative object, or piece of antique furniture to decorate their homes, as was popular at the time. Also, it was a time when several Toronto people had already bought and furnished their house in the city, and they were all going out into the hinterland and buying up the low priced rural properties which would become their country week-end homes. For these in particular, they were looking for antique country furniture, most often in refinished pine, or similar. For an antique dealer these were heady times.

So eventually, within this continuous flow of humanity you would soon learn to recognize the specialty collectors or dealers who would arrive every Sunday to scan the market for their select products. Some smaller Toronto dealers would set up to sell, and to advertise their shop but there were several more dealers who had established shops in the city, and they would come by to add to their stock. You got to know these people as regular buyers, and you would get to know what they are after, and try to supply it.

One fellow would buy any refinished pine chest of drawers I would bring, and at a price close to what I would get from the public. Another dealer only wanted original paint pieces, and he would be there every week as you pulled in, hopping alongside the truck and pointing at anything of interest with the same question, “how much for this”, followed by a “ yes, I’ll take it, hold it for me and I’ll be back to settle up. He would then run off to follow the next truck in. Generally there would be five or six of these alfa type dealers to deal with right off the top so it made for an exciting first hour. Although you had to be on your toes especially when you brought in something really good, and there was a frenzy to determine who of the group was the first to commit. Get this wrong and people got offended. Guys would get pretty mad at each other over lost treasure.

Then as the day wore on many other dealers and collectors would make their way to your booth, most often looking for specific items. There was the pen guy. At some point he would slide up beside you and say quietly “got any pens for me?” If the answer was no he would just keep walking. However, if you did have something it wasn’t a certainty that he would be interested. He was after top end Parkers, etc, so once in a while I would come across something he liked, but for the most part I gave up after a half dozen failed attempts. Still he appeared like clock-work every week.

Then there was the defrocked priest couple who would always turn up seeking Catholic items. Extraordinary looking guys with extravagant wardrobe and hair down to their asses. As I was so often in Quebec, I usually did have something to show them. They really knew their stuff and would explain to me the symbolism and meanings of the pieces. They bought only occasionally, and I always looked forward to the little theology lesson in the middle of the day.

Later in the morning, preferring to get up at a civilized hour, along would come MonsieurTaschereau , a possible candidate for anything spectacular I might have. He had wonderful taste, and a highly respected shop in the Four Seasons tour. A relatively small space, but full of good things. He was very dry and came across as haughty at first, but when you got to know him he was down to earth, and a good guy. When he bought something from me, no matter how small he would always ask me to deliver. Then he would grab a ride so he didn’t have to take the transit back. I didn’t mind because we always had interesting conversation on the way, and I loved looking at his shop.

Another in this category was a lady named Susan Miller who had a wicker shop on Mount Pleasant for years. She was an institution with all the upper crust for their supply of white wicker furniture. All the rage for your patios and sun rooms, and Susan could be relied on for the best, and the whitest. No matter how good I would think the white paint finish was on a piece she would always say, “well, off course I will have to have it repainted”. It was part of her negotiation technique, but just the beginning. She was a lovely, refined lady always decked out in top end white and beige clothes with highly coiffed white hair adorned with a beige, wicker looking, basket-weave hair band. To top it off. It was her costume. Susan was lovely, but she was tough as nails. She had a special technique. For instance, if she liked a chair, but didn’t like the price she would simply sit in it, carry on pleasant conversation, ask for the occasional glass of water, and wait until you couldn’t stand it any longer and would say “O.K. you win Susan. It’s yours for what you asked, and of course I am happy to deliver it today. And of course she would always grab a ride. Again, I really didn’t mind because the conversation was good. I got to know a lot about Susan. How she took all her meals at Fran’s. How she couldn’t stand the smell of garlic and wouldn’t touch the stuff. It is what she disliked most about taking the transit. How she met her husband when she was a hairdresser at Eaton’s. Ah, so that’s the reason for the perfect hair all those years later. How her husband was an accomplished accountant and had written the Canadian tax code. Unfortunately he had died young, so she used some of her capital to set up the wicker store, and as it turned out she was really good at it, and enjoyed it, so it became her life until she retired (I think) at about age 70.

Being such divergent people I have to say we got along very well, and over the many trips up Mount Pleasant to deliver her and her wicker I got to know her. “One day we were riding along when she looked over and said “You know Phil I’ve lived a long time, and I’ve worked hard, and you want to know what I can tell you about life?” Pregnant pause while I imagined she was going to go on about family, or good friends or the like, but then she said “In the end Phil, you know who your best friend will be? “ Please tell me. She looked at me squarely and said, “a couple of bucks in your pocket”. When you get older and need some help, that’s what it comes down to. A couple of bucks in your pocket.” It surprised me, and puzzled me for a moment, but I could see from her expression that she was right. harbour1

You can pay anything for anything these days.

Posted on April 20, 2018 by shadflyguy

here’s a really old picture of me.

It’s 4:30 pm April 20, 2018, and I am declaring it spring. I just had to run out to my friends place on the edge of town to deliver a painting I had cleaned for them, and when I got out of the car, I thought, “Hallelujah. at last, it’s spring. What a long wait it has been for us here in south-west Ontario this year. But it’s like being beaten over the head with a two by four, it feels so good once it’s over. I point this out to say it took a lot of will power to reject the offer of a beer and sitting on the porch for a spell for me to write this, but I met a guy at the market last week who pointed out he noticed I was getting a bit irregular in writing every Friday as I was until recently, and he gently encouraged me to get with it. It doesn’t take much to make me feel guilty apparently. But what does this have to do with economics you ask. Well nothing, but the arrival of spring could not go without comment.

What got me to thinking about economics this week is a new pair of blue jeans I bought at Costco. I buy clothes only when necessary which at my age is rarely. I’ve got a lot of clothes and not many occasions when I need to dress up, plus I am not much of a shopper. Anyway, seventeen bucks. I got a really nicely made jeans of quality fabric that fit me and look good for less than the price of a coffee and a snack at Starbucks. I also had the occasion that day to be in the Bay and I saw some designer jeans for about $240. I didn’t like the fancy stitching on the back pockets but I suppose it was there so people knew you hadn’t bought your jeans at Costco for seventeen bucks, and that’s fine with me. I’m not going to diss anybody for wanting to make a statement with their clothes, if that’s what makes you feel better. It just doesn’t do anything for me. I also know that if I looked around I could probably find a pair of jeans for $5, but if you want them to last you’re better off to spend a little more. My point is you can spend $15 or you can spend $245, or more for a pair of men’s jeans. You can pay anything for anything these days

Next example. We were at our daughter’s house and over breakfast she said to her husband “when you go out to get the groceries I would like you to go to a hardware store and get a new drip coffee maker.” This was the direct result of having to listen to me once more mutter under my breath when I tried to pour myself a cup of coffee and inevitably, no matter how hard you tried, the stupid spout of the carafe was so tiny that you ended up spilling all over the counter. That, and the fact that it no longer had a lid and she doesn’t like the smell of coffee. I find this hard to relate to because I love the smell of coffee, but I did agree with her that the spilling thing was a pain in the ass. Of course it is not in my nature to replace anything that still works so I objected. I would have put up with that stupid carafe until the thing died a natural death. Also, the fact is that neither of them drink coffee so the coffee maker is just there for us or other coffee drinking guests so is rarely used. But she showed great determination so I headed out with my son in law, figuring that I would jump in at the last minute and buy the device as a hostess gift. As it turns out he wouldn’t let me do this but I digress. We went first to the local Loblaws for the groceries on our list, and low and behold, there in the middle isle was a very nice little coffee maker on sale for $22. Amazing. It has a spout that pours, a lid, a cleanable filter so you don’t have to buy and dispose the paper filters, and I can tell it makes a much better cup of coffee than the old one. I think I may have learned something from the experience. Spending $22 to not have to wipe up spilled coffee is a good move. When I got home and looked at the Canadian Tire catalogue I noticed you can spend anywhere from $12 to about $350 for a drip coffee maker. You can pay anything, for anything these days.

This seems to be the case for most items these days thanks to diverse world economics, and the modernization of manufacturing, and I think it’s a pretty good thing overall. The frugal or poor can buy pretty good things for not much money, and the wealthy have an ever increasing selection to choose from. However, I think it also makes people suspicious of their understanding of the monetary value of things.

This has always been an issue that antique and art dealers have had to deal with. When you are asking $350 for a 100 year old rocking chair, there is no price in a catalogue to refer to. There is just your knowledge of antiquity and markets which the buyer either believes in or not. I believe that a lot of established, knowledgeable dealers do a good and fair job of pricing, but it is also the case with the way the markets are now that you see prices all over the place. Recently, a painting by a folk artist that I represented for years sold at auction for $870. I sold that painting in my shop for $495, and I know of other auctions were similar paintings by the same artist have sold for less than $100.

I once overheard a couple of old time dealers haggling over the price of a chair. “Well I agree that it is a very nice chair in original paint and great condition but why is it priced at $600.” The other guy looked him strait in the face and said “because I paid $5 for it”. Ha. They both laughed, and the questioning fellow knew that his negotiation technique was failing but you get the point. You can pay anything, for anything these days. He may have only had to pay $5 but his knowledge of antiques made him realize it was worth much more. I think this is the basic appeal behind the business. It’s a treasure hunt. That, and a love for the stuff. You need that too, or you will never be able to make a go of it.

And don’t get me started on how this affects you when you are trying to do a decent job of appraising items for fair market value. That’s a topic for another day. I’ve gone on long enough. It’s sunny on the porch and I am dying to go out there and have a beer. I’m not a big beer drinker mind you. Don’t touch the stuff all winter, and really don’t drink much in the summer, but on the first day of spring, who would deny me? Happy spring everyone.

How I gained an appreciation of painted furniture

Posted on January 12, 2018 by shadflyguy

mid nineties at the church.
lots of painted furniture

Some people are brought into an appreciation of antique painted furniture by encouragement from a relative or friend who is a collector. Some come to it through self-discovery and research. Some, perhaps most, don’t come to it at all. It depends on how you’re wired. Early antique painted furniture is relatively rare and so you don’t even see it all that often, so many people do not know it even exists.

corner washstand in original butter yellow paint over blueberry stain from Thamesville, Ont.

In my case, I was brought up in a house with several antiques inherited from my mother’s family. I had a great uncle in Chatham who made furniture so we had a few of his pieces. All either cherry or walnut and all in original varnish. I enjoyed going with my mother and uncle to antique shops and auctions, and occasionally they would buy something. Although these were mostly of the decorating or serving dish variety. My father didn’t seem to care much about the furnishings as long as he had a comfortable chair to sit in and was happy to leave it up to my mother. It wasn’t all about antiques. If we needed a new couch or bed, my parents would buy a new item. If they needed a chest of drawers they would go for an antique, but they were practical people. Antique beds are 5 1/2 feet long for heaven’s sake, and antique settees are almost universally uncomfortable. I think the reasoning was, if the seat is uncomfortable the guest will leave sooner, and of course nobody was stretching out trying to be comfortable watching t.v.

early chest in red stain with remnant of white overpaint

As a teenager I enjoyed the social scene of the rural auction. My tastes ran more towards an appreciation of old advertising, and household objects, but I also had an interest in older hand made furniture. Most of the furniture that I would encounter in those days was either in dark varnish, or faux painted to make a cheaper wood such as maple, look like oak, or overpainted with thick oil paint, most often white or similar trim colour that they had laying around. I’d say an overwhelming percentage was like this, like 80 percent. But occasionally I would see a piece (usually older) in a bright painted colour, darkened, thinned, and untouched over the years. I instinctively gravitated toward these pieces. I didn’t know anything about patina, but I knew they excited me. However, it didn’t take me long to realize that the dealers in the crowd would be right onto these pieces and they would draw big money. I didn’t stand a chance of owning one with my budget.

Then when in the early eighties we started to make a living by selling antiques, with a truck and a strong back I began buying lots of antique furniture at local auctions. At the time, the biggest part of the market was for stripped furniture in light wood. You could buy a chest with several coats of paint, strip it down to the wood and refinish it, and make a good buck for your trouble. I didn’t mind doing this in ninety nine percent of the cases, but every once in a while I would get a piece which as you stripped it down, would reveal a beautiful colour under all the other layers. Instinctively I would try to save this paint.

a Quebec blanket box in blueberry paint with remnant of white over-paint

We used a relatively gentle water-based stripper called PVR, that if your timing was right, would “pop” one layer at a time. It took a bit longer but you had more control and the fumes were not as bad. Well, still bad but I always worked with a big exhaust fan which is why I still have a few brain cells left. I can tell you stories of others, but they are sad, and that’s another day. In any case, some of this older furniture, the ones with the beautiful original colours were painted in milk paint. In the days before oil paint. These paints would stay put fairly well stuck to the surface, and if your timing was right you could take all the top layers off to reveal this original paint, and you could stop there and just wash it down with a little Murphy’s oil soap and it would look good. Then later I learned about dry scrapping. I bought myself a good Lee Valley scrapping knife and learned how to control the pressure and retain the concentration to take the top layers off without effecting the original surface. it is a very satisfying feeling when you get this right, and you sit back and admire the finished piece brought back to it’s original glory. Of course, on the rare occasions you will come across a piece that has never been touched, or abused, and is perfectly wonderful the way it is, and with knowledge you realize how precious these pieces really are.

sideboard with mustard paint over dark stain

Over the years I have developed an appreciation for the ge3nerally finer made, formal “brown” furniture that many love for their city homes, but I have developed a passion for the early country pieces in beautiful colour. Once you have this love of painted furniture there is no turning back. It’s like being in love.

Good pieces are not all that easy to come across but they are worth the search. Go to a good Tim Potter auction, or the Cabin Fever show coming up February 3rd and 4^th in Kingston, Ontario, or the Bowmanville show on Good Friday and you’ll see some. You might even take something home with you. You’d be wise to. It will enrich your life.

early chest with original, untouched blue and white paint.

Changes

Posted on August 18, 2017 by shadflyguy

I’ve just looked on my Word Press home page and this is my 107^th blog entry. I promised myself 100 entries. Tiny drum roll please. I’m enjoying it, so I’ll keep on going. My goal has been to write something once a week about an aspect of my life spent in the antique trade, and the pursuit of Canadian folk art in particular. Beyond this my intension has been to go beyond the technical, and take a look at a life spent as I suggest “seeking authentic”. What is it in an item that catches me, and keeps me interested? Why do I care? Actually, I am more interested in the expression of beauty, and the preservation of it, than I am in the industry per se, but I have also made a living from my full time involvement, so the industry part affects me. Today I’m thinking about that.

We listen to a lot of NPR in this house. Jeanine tries to clear her agenda every day at three to listen to Terry Gross on Fresh Air. I’ve become a fan as well. It’s too much politics these days, but it’s still intelligent radio. On Wednesday in the morning I was listening to a business review as I was doing up the breakfast dishes, and a report came on about changes in the antique business since the introduction of on-line shopping about the year 2000. The program confirmed that as those of us in the industry know, the antique industry has taken a hard punch, and is now greatly reduced in size. I think it suggested over-all the industry is down 60%, but I could have that figure muddled, and after spending a half hour searching the NPR site I could not find the interview to check it. In any case it’s dramatic. They had a quote from one of the appraisers from the Antiques Road Show on how half of the shops in his home town of Houston, Texas had already closed down, and the others were in trouble. The thesis suggested that the value of dark furniture, china, pottery, etc. dropped dramatically as these items became more easily available on-line. Basic consumerism. Why drive around when you can sit at your desk and order exactly what you are looking for? This situation is essentially true for all retail, and with rising costs for a bricks and mortar location, it just takes a trip through the down town of a small city to see the results of this situation. We have big box stores on the edges of towns but less and less independent little shops in the core. It’s a shame really for those of us who live to dig around in crowded, interesting spaces, but it is entirely understandable.

They chose the antique industry as an example because it has suffered the double whammy of changing retail structure, and of changing cultural tastes. There are now more Millennials than there are baby boomers. It’s a fact, and so far the kids don’t want their grandparents finely made dining room suites, or their knick-knacks. Nor do they want their Great-Grandparents diamond point armoire or harvest table as difficult as that is to comprehend. At this point the show tried to be up-beat by suggesting that the day may come when the children of the Millennials will decide they want fine mahogany furniture again instead of Ikea, and the cycle will begin again; but I doubt it will be as simple as that. And what dramatic changes would need to take place in the economy for the rents of commercial space in busy markets to drop significantly so that an antique shop could start to open up again. I’m not looking to bring everybody down here although the program did not make me feel chipper. I believe that by looking at the reality of the situation, and acknowledging the changes , we might better be able to make the best of it. There is no question that the industry has diminished, but there is still a lot going on.

Pickers are still dropping furniture off the back of their pick-up trucks at various antique shows. A lot of the co-ops, on-line sites, and surviving shops continue to do good business. Facebook groups, and magazines continue to support and bolster the ideas behind collecting, and at the heart of it all, yes, I still believe that many people will potentially come to grow tired of mass consumerism, and will come to “seek authentic” for themselves. To everything, change, change, change.

O.K. next week I will be back to tell a humorous story about my truck catching fire or some such thing, but this week I really wanted to acknowledge the effect that radio report had on me. It can’t all be happy face, and I believe in facing these realities head on to understand and move beyond them. And the one thing I know for certain is that some unforeseen thing, or event will come along that will totally change everything. We have to remain positive to make that positive change. We have to keep at it. Support and encourage, and enjoy what you love. It’s still the best game in town.

“Your Cat is on Fire” – adventures with Albert

Posted on April 15, 2016 by shadflyguy

Our adjoining shed workshops

We were just on the phone with our daughter Cassandra, and she reminded me it’s Friday. Somehow with the jet lag I was thinking it’s still Thursday. It always takes me a couple of days to get back in to swing of things. So as not to tax my tired brain too much, rather than going into something more serious, I turn to a little tale of barely averted disaster from back in the days when we lived and worked at the old church in Wyecombe Ontario. Back in the days when we were called Old Church Trading.

Albert

This story involves our faithful, for the past thirty years, assistant Albert. Albert is a wonderful guy. We continue to be good friends. He is actually more a member of the family at this point, and at 70 years old he is still happy as a clam to come over from time to time to help us with the garden or whatever, and he can still out work a man half his age. We met him early on after moving to the church when we bought some children’s yard chairs that he was making and selling from his trailer home in nearby Courtland. During the conversation over the chair purchase he became aware that we had lots of work to do on the property and asked if we would be interested in hiring him. He seemed like a nice fellow and his price was right so we said “sure let’s give it a try.’ Well Albert turned out to be a real blessing. He would come on time very morning and work hard with enthusiasm and dedication, without ever a complaint. I have always been more likely to say to Albert to slow down and take it a little easy, rather than to hurry up and get on with it. Salt of the earth kind of guy. We soon noticed that he never brought or ate a lunch, and so asked him why, and expressed our concern as to his well being. He said, “oh I eat a good breakfast and then have dinner when I get home so it’s o.k. That’s when Albert started having lunch with us. Albert we came to find out, was a ward of the court and had never learned to read or write. He had lived almost as a slave on a nearby farm until he was 18 and legally able to leave. I will not denigrate him by suggesting that he is unintelligent because in spite of his lack of education he is very creative in finding ways to do things his own way, and very capable at many things. Let’s just say that he is an original thinker, and because he is always working so hard to please, everything is great as long as you don’t leave him too long unattended, because sometimes he is a bit overzealous. So understanding this, we come to our story.

It was an unusually hot, and windy spring morning, and I had spent it working indoors, while Albert on instruction raked up the leaves and limbs that had fallen on the yard over the winter. At noon Jeanine had prepared some delicious soup and so we called Albert in for lunch. As usual we had enjoyed our lunch together and conversation and was just finishing a cup of coffee when there came a frantic knock on the door. We opened it to find a local farmer shouting “your cats on fire, your cat’s on fire”. We looked across the room and saw our cat Elvis sleeping there so we were puzzled to say the least. “He’s o.k. he’s right over there.” We had misunderstood. “Oh, our shack is on fire” What the…?

We ran out and indeed one of our three little out buildings was indeed engulfed in flames along one wall. It didn’t take long to realize that Albert had piled up the refuse at the edge of the property, and had taken the initiative to light it. Then when called him he had then come in for lunch, assuming I guess that it would be fine. Well the wind had picked up and it wasn’t fine. The fire had run along the dry weeds and caught under the edge of the little building. The dry hot wind had fanned it, and it was already burning pretty convincingly all along the wood siding. Yikes! Crap. Albert get out the hose and shovels and get over here pronto. Albert is pretty darn fast when he needs to be so within seconds he was back and we were throwing dirt on the fire and spraying the side of the building with all the water that our little well pump could muster. It didn’t take a minute to realize it was a losing battle so Jeanine ran in and phoned the fire department. Albert and I continued to fight the blaze as best we could but it had now jumped on to the pile of one hundred year old pine barn planks which we had stacked neatly with two inch spacers in between so they would not rot. Well let me tell you, when that hot dry wind blew the flames across that dry stacked wood, whoosh, up she went like a match shooting flames into the sky. Holy Crap! Our main effort at this point was to just stop the flames from reaching our two adjoined work shop buildings which were a mere three feet away. All we could do was to spray the walls to try to keep it from igniting. Of course the work shop was full of valuable antiques and combustible chemicals, and also was just a few feet away from the church so things were beginning to look pretty bad. Just when it seemed hopeless the entire Langton volunteer fire department arrived with both their trucks because they had understood from Jeanine’s frantic call that the whole church was on fire. They got out one of their big hoses and within five minutes extinguished the burning pile of boards and the burning shack, and left us with a cautionary note and a bill for $175. Whew, thanks fellows for coming out so quickly and getting this situation back in control. I lost my two big pile of pine boards and we had to restore one side of our little shack but we were so grateful that things had not been worse that we just took a moment to thank our lucky stars and the brave men who volunteer to fight fires. Albert, of course felt bad enough as it was without reprimanding him further, so we just got on with cleaning up the mess. However, we all learned a valuable lesson that day.