thirty years ago, my mom brought me to the nashville fleamarket for the first time. the daughter and granddaughter of avid collectors, I was no stranger to beautiful old things, to the lengths in which folks go in order to acquire them, no stranger to early morning yard sales and barn sales and auctions and musty antique shops. but the fleamarket. the fleamarket was new to me. we'd piled into our car that day, drove a long, hot five hours from our small southern illinois town to nashville for the fleamarket. for fun, she said. for treasures. I can still feel the way the backs of my legs stuck to the vinyl seats of our old car, how soft the ten dollar bill she gave me felt in my hand, how anxious I was to wander the aisles of those cavernous sheds, to see what I could find. and what I found was a long table piled high with wads and tangles of vintage clothing. before anyone cared about vintage clothing, really. three pieces for ten dollars, the sign said. and then I began to dig through that pile. and well, that was that. I don't even remember what I bought that day, just that I fell in love. with fleamarkets. and tables with tangles and wads and stacks and piles of things. and soft ten dollar bills. and possibility. today I brought my own daughter with me, who is almost exactly the age I was when I first visited thirty years ago. ava is certainly no stranger to beautiful old things either (or fleamarkets, for that matter) but I saw my 15 year-old self in her at least a dozen times, wandering the aisles of those same old sheds, sifting through piles of things. I saw my mom too, I saw her everywhere. I went backwards and forwards in time so much so I nearly forgot where I was. and I did not want the day to end, friends. I did not.
film fiiiiiiiinally developed from last year's move across the country and sometimes I can't believe the holga is a plastic camera. and that we've actually been here for one whole year. #mediumformat #holga #toycamera #kodakportra400 #filmisnotdead