by Debbie Robus

Created on: December 31, 2006   Last Updated: February 14, 2011

Collecting antiques and collectibles... why DO we do it?! It's not an easy question to answer, but I do know that once you start, it is almost impossible to stop!

Growing up surrounded by old things and "Early American" furnishings, I vowed to have neither. I would be a thoroughly modern woman, with sleek contemporary furnishings. My mother-in-law is an antiques dealer, and she is always buying and selling old things... sometimes keeping them for awhile to enjoy, then selling them when she tires of them and getting something "new" to enjoy. "You need to collect something," she said to me, early in our marriage. So I chose souvenir spoons. I filled two racks with spoons from our travels, and some antique spoons made their way into the collection, as well. And my collection grew.

When we purchased a new house, my mother-in-law gave me her mother's old bread knife. The long metal knife with the curved handle and scalloped sharp edge had been well-used, and I hung it over my kitchen sink in the space between the ceiling and cabinets, known as a furdown. Soon, every inch of furdown in our kitchen was covered with old utensils and culinary gadgets. Some were pieces we bought... others were family pieces, like my grandmother's rotary egg beater, and my great-grandmother's butter paddle. And again, my collection grew.

As my grandparents aged and passed away, their households were liquidated, and many of their belongings found a way to my home... quilts, old glassware, old photos, a pair of horse collars with brass fittings from my grandfather's barn, my dad's wooden hobby horse, two rocking chairs from my great-great grandparents, small pieces of furniture, a steamer trunk that belonged to my husband's grandmother, and my great-grandfather's barber tools. Each piece told a story... some I had heard... others I only imagined. Still, my collection grew.

Over time, I came to appreciate these old things for their rich history, and while these things were only *things* they represented a fabric of who I am and how I got here. Recently, I have started attending local estate auctions, and I am intrigued by this process of gathering someone's belongings and offering them to others for the highest bid. Some of the buyers are antiques dealers, others are collectors, and others are curiosity seekers. Often, I knew the person whose belongings are for sale, and the items take on a significance in that context. Sometimes, I buy things to resell...sometimes I cannot part with a piece or two, and my collection grows!

I have come to appreciate antiques for what they represent. I imagine a time when women pieced intricate, colorful works of art into quilts to warm their family on chilly nights. Why didn't they just piece together plain feed sacks and create a warm blanket? I look at the details and beauty of depression glass, and I wonder why someone took the time and energy to create something so beautiful just to house a glass of milk or the evening meal. I envision my husband's grandmother packing her belongings into the old steamer trunk for a visit to a distant relative or friend. I see a time when people took time from their busyness to appreciate the beauty of their belongings, and I am smitten. And even yet, my collection grows...

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