Oct 10 2010

Apple Time in Coal Country

Published by rtanner under City Life, House Love

Jill and I just spent a few days in Pennsylvania’s coal country, which we enjoy visiting because it is not a popular tourist destination. For example: we followed tantalizing signs to a site called The Gallitzin Tunnels, only to discover that it is an overlook that allowed us to peer down at two railroad tunnels — the oldest railway tunnels in the state.  Had we been able to walk through a tunnel, I might have been impressed. But, no, you look over a fence into a ravine and there they are, a hundred yards away: two darkened entrances that look like any other entrances to a vehicular tunnel you might have seen.

No matter.  We were interested in the scenery, not the historic sights. Central PA is hill country, towns tucked into steep slopes with 50-mile views. The trees were already burnished with autumn colors, the sky was cloudless, and the temps topped out at 70.  We were driving with the dogs because this was our dog vacation. Jill insists that we treat them to a trip every so often. Our Basset and pit bull are high maintenance but they enjoy being with, so it’s hard to begrudge them the pleasure. Every time we get out of the car, the pit clambers into the front seat and the Basset howls. Wide-eyed with longing and anticipation, they watch us for the next move: where we going? Is there food? Are there dogs or children to bark at? Trees to pee on?  Trails to sniff?


We visited one of our favorite PA places: Bellefonte, a little town with a stunning array of grand Victorian houses.  Really, you won’t find better Victorian houses anywhere in Pennsylvania. We have our eye on one in particular. If we were rich and living a hundred-some years ago, we’d make it our summer home. It’s a huge second-empire Italianate manse on a hill. Two years ago it was gutted by a fire. Now a developer is brining it back, but, at this point, it remains an imposing shell.


Bellefonte is just ten miles north of State College, by the way, and State College is where you can find one of the best pizza places west of New Jersey: Faccia Luna.  It’s seriously good pizza done New York style in a coal-fired oven. The places is wildly, deservedly popular.


Before leaving coal country, we picked a bushel of apples from a tree behind the cottage we were renting. We’re not sure what kind of apples these are but they’re wonderfully tart and sweet and may be related to jonathans.  You probably know that there were once scores of apple varieties in the U.S.A.  The rise of  super market chains in the 1960s-70s reduced apple varieties to a handful, the most prevalent of which is the Red Delicious — which grow big, are hard to bruise, and are one of the most insipid fruits ever manufactured.


Recent decades have seen an increase in the popularity of the old varieties, promoted by a  movement to revive these heirloom strains.  At our own farmers’ market in Baltimore we can find about twenty kinds of apples with names like Abram, Aunt Rachel, Blacktwig, Bunkum, Carolina Red June, and so on. Our bushel of apples may be one of those. Frieda, our basset hound, loves apples so, every time we turned around, she sneaked off, trotting down the hill to the apple tree. The grass was littered with apples. She’d eat 6-10 apples at a time if we didn’t stop her.  Here’s a YouTube video of Frieda devouring one.


Side note to dog lovers: some dog aficionados will tell you not to feed your dog a whole apple because the seeds contain cyanide. Apple seeds actually contain amigdalin, a cyanide compound. However, to die from eating apple seeds, you’d need to eat a lot of them. How many? Let’s say a hundred. Maybe two hundred? How many apples is that? Second, you’d have to chew the seeds a good deal to release the trace amount of poison, then let that sit in your stomach a while so that you could absorb it.  Unchewed seeds will not break down in your stomach. In other words, your dog is not going to die from eating apple seeds because, if your dog is like our dog, she eats fast, swallows without chewing much — and certainly doesn’t chew enough to crack the seeds — and then poops it out soon after.


On our way home, Jill and I stopped at a country flea market. There’s nothing we like more than a good flea market. By “good,” I mean lots of cool old stuff for sale cheap. We found a big vintage ceramic bowl that completed a set we have (at $12, it was our splurge), an old tape measure ($1), a 45-year-old “Nick Fury, Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.” comic book ($1), two German kitchen knives ($4), a circa-1950 children’s puzzle of the U.S.A (lovely and frameable but an indulgence at $5)., a bunch of old picture frames ($2 a piece), and several 78 RPM records albums (25 cents a piece), the best of which is a circa-1955 “Christmas Songs by Frank Sinatra.” (Yes, we have a turn table that can play 78s.)


Only when we got back to Baltimore did we realize that we had picked more than a bushel of apples. Maybe two bushels. More apples that even serious apple lovers like us can eat. We made a pot of apple sauce for starters. We’ll have to dream up all kinds of autumnal treats for the rest, though I promise we will not hand them out for Halloween. I always hated that, getting an apple at someone’s door instead of candy on the one night of the year when candy is both king and queen.


Tags: apples, flea market, Frieda, Halloween, Pennsylvania

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Jun 30 2010

Antique Hunting & Hoarding

Published by rtanner under City Life, House Love

On Saturday, Jill and I went to yard sales with our friend Scott. Scott is the uber antiques lover and collects vintage Christmas ornaments and decorations. Every time we go out with him — usually to Pennsylvania — he finds something rare and wonderful. The appeal of antique hunting is just that, the hunt. It is a quintessential American pastimes because it underscores our can-do, anythng-goes spirit: who more than Americans can see treasure in trash? And who generates more trash than Americans? Let’s not forget that Antiques Roadshow is the most popular program on PBS.

Some of the most gratifying moments of Roadshow are when somebody has found something very valuable that he/she has retrieved from a Dumpster. Or bought at a yard sale for a dollar. What can any of us buy for one dollar any more? Antique hunting is like prospecting — panning for gold or digging a mine. You get dirty, you waste a lot of time, and, more often than not, you come home only with muddy shoes or a sunburn. But if you get lucky . . . .


It may be a sign of our waning Empire that, in this country, shopping — whether for old stuff or new — is recreation. My ex-wife used to love spending a full day in shopping malls. We once drove to a mega-mall for a weekend of shopping and stayed in the Red Roof Inn next door. I can’t do that any more but I will happily spend a day on the road, driving from yard sale to yard sale. Our friend Scott likes to drive north along Pennsylvania’s Susquehanna River and pass through the many picturesque river towns. On this trip, we came upon a community flea market at a riverside high school. It was our first stop.


It is surprising what people think others will buy. I often see piles of old VHS tapes stacked on sellers’ tables. Cassette tapes too. Battered shoes. Broken vacuum cleaners. CB radios. Rusted chains. Boxes of baby clothes. And a lot of new crap from China. But, every once in a while, I come across somebody who has cleaned out an oldster’s basement or attic. At this flea market, Jill and I were pleased to find some fifty-year-old brass lamp parts and some old tools. I found some old toys too. Scott found a feather tree for one dollar. He was ecstatic.

A feather tree is a 70-100 year-old table-top, artificial Christmas tree designed to display ornaments. Its branches are decorated with feathers dyed to look like spindly pine boughs. It doesn’t look like much but it is rare and, when found in an antiques shop, costs $300+. So there we were, at nine in the morning, and Scott had already scored the find of the day. But, of course, one find just makes you hungry for the next. And here’s where the trouble begins. If you know the market for an item, you may be inclined to pick it up — even if you don’t want it — just to re-sell it. I collect old toys, for instance, and pick them up whenever I find them cheap. But, then, you have to ask yourself, How much am I going to stockpile for resale? Do I collect any and every good deal I  find?


When I watch Antiques Roadshow, I often shake my head in dismay when I hear the appraisers (antiques dealers)  award an item some outlandish value. It’s easy for the dealers to claim a high price when they have a stable of prospective buyers in the highest end of the market (i.e., New York, San Francisco, etc.). But the average Joes and Janes don’t have those connections and they don’t have high-profile auction houses to sell from. Jill and I have tried to sell antiques at our annual yard sale and have discovered that nobody — at a yard sale — wants to pay market value for anything. Why should they?


Which leaves you to sell in an antiques consignment store or on eBay. Antiques stores are closing like speakeasies after the end of Prohibition. It’s not just hard times. It seems that the antique boom has waned. And the demographics are changing. Generations X and Y are buying stuff from the 1950s and 1960s, which aren’t exactly antiques. As for online selling: the good thing about eBay is that it has leveled the market internationally so that nobody can claim something is rare and valuable when in fact it is not. The bad thing is that eBay has glutted the market. Think that little lobby card (advertising the 1959 blockbuster Ben Hur) you found at last week’s yard sale is a treaure? Check out eBay and, guess what, there are fifty of them just like it — listed for $3.99 each.


Scott told us of a friend who has become a hoarder of old stuff. It’s a scary story of how a collection overtakes one’s life. The man in question is has no place to sit in his house because of the piled-high junk and now pays  more on rental space for his treasures than he pays in mortgage for himself. It starts when you keep picking up “bargains” with the thought that you are going to resell them. Notable examples of hoarding include the Collyer brothers in Manhattan, who both died in 1947 buried under mounds of old books, newspapers, and other junk they had amassed for twenty-five years. 130 tons of junk. It fell atop one brother, then the next, trapping both until they died of starvation. The most recent example occurred just a month ago in Chicago, where an elderly couple was rescued from their junk-filled apartment.


Saturday, we came upon an antiques warehouse that was clearly a hoarder’s stash. There was barely room enough to edge yourself down the aisles of junk, which was heaped in piles that, at one time, had been more or less orderly. The good thing was that owner was selling it off, or trying to. There was so much to pick through, we just gave up on the yard sales. We didn’t have time enough to do it justice, though, and promised to come back. As we drove off, Scott observed that the key to sane collecting is that for every item you bring into the house, something else has to leave the house. It’s a yin and yang thing. Jill and I decided that it’s time to sell off our many extras and bargains we have been accumulating in our too-big house. If all else fails, Scott says, just take your treasures to an auctioneer, dump the load for any price, and don’t look back.


Tags: antique dealers, antiques, hoarding, Pennsylvania

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Ron Tanner is an award-winning writer of fiction and nonfiction, author of A BED OF NAILS, KISS ME STRANGER, and other works. For more on his latest activity, click here. Or go to: