Progress or Loss

I love antiquity. That feeling of having buildings and items around that have a long history. We don’t have enough of it in America. We don’t appreciate it the same as people in other parts of the world do. Oh sure, we covet priceless antiques in a collection. I admire and applaud those who restore and preserve furniture and art, even tractors and cars. But more often than not, we go to estate auctions to buy “early American” items to decorate our homes in that quaint, Martha Stewart, shabby chic style.

There have been many times at auctions that I am completely surprised at what people are willing to pay big bucks for are the same kinds of things I have in my home that I still use! Kitchen utensils, dishes, tools, linens, and furniture. Family things passed on from my parents and grandparents. Things that were used and loved in their daily lives. We are so much the throw away society, I am rather proud to have them all.

Our country is over 200 years old - and there aren’t many 200 year old buildings. In other parts of the world people live and worship in buildings 700 years old and older! It seems we routinely choose to doze for progress instead of preserving for posterity. Too often we tear things down, put some stuff in a museum, and forget big pieces of our past, our history.

My earliest memory of fondness for an old thing was when I was fairly young. I was with my dad somewhere, and that could have been just about anywhere, and I spotted an old chair in a junk pile. It was a cane bottom chair with no bottom of course. It had a wonderfully carved back and ornately turned spindles and legs. It had been outside so long there was not a speck of finish on it. I wanted it! And was quite bent on not leaving without it. THEY obviously didn’t want it so why couldn’t I have it!?

We left with the chair. I proudly carried it into the shop and made a deal with Dad that we would “fix it up” for my room. I even checked out a book at the library on how to re-cane the bottom. Much to my dismay it never happened. I had no resources of my own, and Dad apparently wasn’t as enthused about furniture restoration as I was. I kept an eye on the chair for a LONG time as it moved to various locations in the shop, until finally it just disappeared. I should have kept it in my room!

The Antique Home
by Kansas poet Ed Blair

The antique clock sits on the shelf,
One taller, on the floor,
Depending on the patterns then
One hundred years or more!
The dishes, marked by tripods, now
Show they were served with care,
Those patterns of the long ago,
How precious now and rare!

The Settle now has guests again;
The fireplace glows with red;
The doughbox, covered, standing near,
Once held tomorrow's bread!
The spinning wheel clicked as it made Another skein complete;
The drop leaf table's wooden hinge
Swings level on its feet.

The tiny Betty Lamp, that burned
Just grease to make the light
That great-great-great-grandmother used
When she bade all "Good night,"
Could tell a story of the days
When Washington was here,
If it could only whisper now
With bedtime drawing near!

The hooked rug shows an old farm scene
Of seventeen seventy-nine;
The corner cupboards--cherry wood,
Or walnut, maybe pine.
The kettle once again now swings
Above the fires that glow
How many hungry, it once fed
Long years, long years ago.

The tables, kitchen dressers, sinks
And footstools and the stand
And cupboards, held by wooden pegs--
And blotters filled with sand
The cradle, pride of many homes,
That many mothers rocked
The stories now no one can tell
The passing years have blocked.

Oh, lovers of the antiques, here
Think of the minds that led,
Who stole long hours from sleep, to toil;
In daylight earned the bread
Their love for mothers, brides and babes
Who brighten home and hearth,
Urged silently the artist's skill
Who brought Love's dreams to earth!