She was a lot younger then, perhaps 15 months old. She is always with us in her travels, as is her 19 year old brother Scooter, sometimes called the Scoot in those ever decreasing moments he acts the puppy.
We had just finished a rather long road trip of about a week through Maine and were picking our way back through various New Hampshire mountain towns. The beast, a Chevy Suburban was full of the loot found along the past weeks sojourn along Treasure Road. It was in fact packed from front to back leaving but a small space for the Trixter, large enough to nap, or as she more often does stand with tongue hanging into the front seat area. We had just decided that enough was enough and we needed to stop shopping because of the lack of space. Even the roof rack was piled with some odd tables and a chair. The steamer trunk, purchased days before, was also full of smalls from various other stops. No space left for goodies.
Then we saw it. A small sign along Route 4A. It said antiques and had an arrow pointing up a road. It was irresistible and of course we turned left onto the macadam road. Well, it was macadam for say oh a mile. Then it became groomed gravel followed by rutted trail. Steep, rough as a cob, and desolate it seemed, but Trixie, with an excited whine let us know we were at least within the range of her nose of farm critters. After more minutes of picking our way through the road that bore an ever increasing resemblance to a depleted mine field we were about to give up and turn around, but again Trixie groaned about farm critters. In unison we told her to shush and watch for a Moose. Now when we uttered this exacerbated phrase we saw no Moose and had no expectation of seeing one. Moments later there it was.
Were we ever surprised, and delighted. We took it as an omen and continued up the mountain road and about a mile on we found another sign, just like the last, pointing into a driveway. Up we went.
At the end of the driveway was a small house, two story and in need of paint, or not, depending on one's taste. To he left of the house was a building with a sign, ANTIQUES BOUGHT and SOLD, above a barn style door.
We entered the building and finding nobody began to browse. There were shelves of china, Blue Willow, Meakin, Noritake, and Johnson Brothers to name a few. Depression and Art Glass abounded and in a nook were some tractor seats of cast iron. It was a jammed full little shop and we were admiring some 19th century wooden ware when the owner, a lady of about 60 came in and introduced herself as Emily.
We had coffee and donuts in her dining room a bit later and became fast friends. It is a side trip we rarely fail to take whenever in the White Mountains.
To see some of our finds on Treasure Road check us out on line at
If you are in Northern New York check or shop at Glenwood Manor in Queensbury, New York
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