The inspiration for this blog comes from two events I experienced this past summer: helping my parents clean out their collectibles-filled home and a trip to a local flea market while on vacation.

The first event, which is a long story 50 years in the making, will be told over time as my postings develop.  The second event is easier to grasp.  So let’s start there.

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Every summer for the past decade or so, a group of friends and I have spent time in Wellfleet, MA on beautiful Cape Cod.  One of the things we like to do while there is visit the amazing collection of shops and galleries in town and then visit the flea market held on weekends at the local drive-in movie theater.  Yes, Wellfleet still has an active drive-in theater.

Anyway, we were browsing the flea market looking at the various booths.  I was not looking for anything and this flea market is the place to go if you are not looking for anything.  The place has the typical mix of new and used stuff, knock-offs, cheap t-shirts and junk. But there is also a few vendors with vintage jewelry, collectibles and antiques.

It was at one of these latter vendors’ tables that I came across a little metal cowboy.  For some reason it called out to me.  The last thing I needed was to purchase a little metal cowboy that looks like it is broken off of something.  But he looked lost.  In the 30 seconds it took me to take out the $2 to pay for him, I came up with about 50 different uses for him.

I thought I could put him in a shadow box to make an interesting piece of art; I thought about fixing him to the top of a wooden box as an ornament; I thought he could be the start of a new collection of tin toys; But most of all, I felt, for no real reason at all, that he would be the start of something really special in my life.