T-BALL FINDS "THE" YARD SALE

I kinda like to scrounge about and salvage things that can be used later on. The barn’s full a this kinda shit. Plus I really can’t stand to pay the premium dollar for something new when there’s just a stew pot full of folks that will let go of perfectly good crap for dimes on the dollar.

So when Timmy, that’s T-Ball to those of you that remember him from an earlier tale, called up last week and said that he had a line on a wood chipper that he wanted and wanted to know if I was up for a road trip - well shit, I was all ears. He mentioned that there might be some other stuff that maybe I’d be interested in acquiring or at least looking at. I’ve been looking for a used log splitter and a portable mill. I’d use the log splitter to bust some a my timber to sell next summer and I’ve been also thinkin about constructing barns and out buildings for folks out in the North Woods to pocket a little more cash so a portable mill would be damn handy.

Timmy says, “Jasper if you’re going then we gotta hoof it quick.”

I gave the cookie jar a look-see and discovered a couple a hundred bucks. Got a hold of the honey for approval then buzzed T-Ball right back. “Timmy, I’ve got a couple a C-notes and I’m ready to roll.”

“That ain’t a lot Jasper. But knowin your wheelin-dealin expertise you’ll probably do a-ok. We’re heading north dude so you’ll have to change that cash for Loonies along the way. Headin up by my grandpappy’s place. I gotta hitch up the trailer and will be by within the hour. Pack some chow, ehh.”

I threw together some liverwurst, Limburger, onion and mustard sandwiches grabbed a fresh bag of Doritos, and brewed up a couple of thermoses of java supreme. Time to get stinky - twice - I figure. T-Ball will appreciate this shit. Nothing like the competition to determine who can fart the loudest or foulest on a road trip, ehh? And I’ve got the fuel right here.

He shows up, I take a last pisseroo and we hit the road. “So where are we exactly heading?” I ask as we get rolling. I look at my watch and its about 7:30 Friday night and the sun’s already set off to the west. The night’s ahead a us.

“Well, Jasper, my grandpappy lives on Prince Edward Island. You remember that don’t you? Its going to be anywhere from a twelve to sixteen hour drive depending on the border crossing, night construction along the way and the ferry. We’ll have to trade off driving and napping I figure.”

He continues the small talk and I sorta remember that he’s from Cape Breton or Prince Edwards Island but mainly I’m just thinking somewhere north of Nova Scotia. Now I’m beginning to worry a bit. Sure hope the directions are clear and the route straight forward or we’re going to get good and lost when it’s my turn to drive. I could get mixed up in an ice rink (been known to have put the puck in the wrong net a time or two - aw come on you guys it was by accident - I’m really not that screwed up).

T-Ball jams a CD in and starts singing along. Its some fuckin opera or some shit and he’s doing a damn good job of imitating, at the top of his lungs, the foreign sounding singers. I ain’t into this crap but he pulls off some of the weirdest shit sometimes. I could go for some cranked up classic rock or some of that current country music like Toby Keith or Big and Rich or Keith Urban.

Them boys kick ass just like the my rock from the seventies and early eighties. If he puts in any rap or hip-hop crapola I sure for shit am going to give him a hella left elbow right in his fuckin Adam’s apple. We gonna brawl over that shit!

After about an hour a this (I keep hoping his voice will give out) he reaches over and turns the stereo off pulls a folded piece of paper from his pocket and says “I downloaded this and printed it out. Open the glove box there and the light will come on. Won’t give me as much glare as the overhead will. Take a look at that. Some fuckin sales, ehh?”

It’s a map. Hmmmm. A map that’s listing about a hundred and forty yard sales. The damn thing’s titled “The 70 Mile Coastal Yard Sale” and its of the area called Wood Islands over on PEI. “Ya see that Jasper, there’s a shit load of yard sales spread all the ways from Orwell down to Belfast and out to Murray Harbor. There’s going to be some good shit and it’s a damn good party besides. These folks will love us when we tell em that we came up from the States. If you let on that you’re a noogie puck head then they’ll be putty in your hands when ya start negotiating your shit. Ehh? You ready for this? Saturday aaaaand Sunday.”

Now me and T-Ball, we’d been out to auctions, estate sales, livestockin and such together cuz we sorta think alike when it comes to livin in the woods ya know. We don’t go at this shit like a couple a old bitties looking for knick-knacks and shit. We go for the gusto. If we can get someone to give us a lemonade then we can get them have us help finish off a case of brewskies and all a their leftovers. Since we’re on the cheap here (well at least I am) we’ll be looking for a place to shack up at least Saturday night and maybe Sunday too. It’s a damn game and we play it well.

The sandwiches and chips get munched away and I nod off for a bit cuz Timmy finally shut up for a while. I don’t know how much sleep I got but I woke up from him just ripping one really loud ripe one. “Fuckin-A, ya shit! We gotta open some windows.”

“It ain’t so bad Jasper. You can out do me old buddy. You ready to drive? You snore like an old pleurisied dog - ya bitch. I need to take a piss. We’ll pull over and swap over for a bit.”

We get out and piss. I cut a loud snorkeler, Timmy starts laughing and about drizzles on his boots. Damn wasted fart. I figure I can give him some sweet breaths while he’s sleeping.

I check our bearings. “Just stay on this road. It’s Trans Canada Highway 106. We’ll take the ferry out of Pictou/Caribou over across the Northumberland Strait to PEI. Make sure I’m awake then, ok?”

“Yup, I got ya covered”. Shit, I’m thinking: if I don’t get us fuckin lost in the meantime. I’ll be damned, I must a slept like puck in a snow bank, if I didn’t wake up back when we crossed the border. Poured myself a fresh mug of lukewarm java supreme - and we rolled again. T-Balled puffed on a doobie and was out in five.

“What the fuck, Jasper?”

“Sorry about that ya pecker head. Had to swerve for a couple of dumbshit deer and the trailer about fishtailed on us. We never lost pavement though. Ehh. Nod back out. I got things under control.”

From there on it was uneventful except for the juice I was ripping while he slept - all the way to the ferry. Woke him up and told him that his snoring sounded like a cow waiting for a late milkin. He chugged on some now cold coffee and we crossed over to PEI; wanting to hook up first with the dude that had the chipper that T-ball wanted.

He made the deal and we hornswaggled a free bacon and egg breakfast outta the guy’s old lady. Said we were going to do some shopping and that we’d pick up the chipper on our way back home - could we leave the trailer at their place.

We hit the road and cut the cheese all morning. He asked about Norris’ Nightmares and I told him the team was coming along pretty good. Just like when we were young Outlaws. Told him that Jingles and Bronzy were running the practice this weekend for me. It’d be ok.

Damn right!

Anybody that’s participating in the 70 mile yard sale has balloons displayed out at the road and sometimes a little hint of what they’ve got for sale. I’m a bit more interested in the places that are more rural because they might have some equipment I need but we stopped at places in the communities too. T-Ball always gets a good chatter going with the dealers and shoppers both. I like to play the part of disinterest over what I really want and over emphasized awe over just terrible garbage. We saw the usual used household goods and clothing, trinkets and paintings. There were a lot of local crafts stuff too like quilts and cozies of every shape and form. Noticed everywhere a hodge-podge of crafted paintings, dolls and carvings of red headed, freckled faced tarts.

Picking one these various items up I ask Timmy, “What gives?”

“Anne of green gables,” was all he replied as he jumped back into his complementary banter with an older matron.

Like I knew what that meant. Anne of green gables, ehh? Not a clue.

We were visiting one place after lunch. (Had weaseled some lobster sandwiches out of a couple of young lasses at the last place while sharing some bottled home brews we had acquired along the way.) They had three tables out and you could tell that it was a couple of families working the goods. One of the tables had a couple of old style goalie masks on it and I gave them a little scan. Picked one up and the old codger sittin in a well worn high back oak chair said, “Yup, that mask there, ehh, used to be Cheevers.”

That said, I flipped it over and examined it a little better. It was just a toy street hockey or Halloween mask that had been marked-up and painted a bit. Probably even had been pissed on to look weathered and stinky. But it sure for shit wasn’t one of Cheever’s. Playing the dumb fuck and tempted to see how much bullshit I could get outta this old guy I say, “Cheevers, ehh? Who’s that?”

Oh that lit him up. He got out that old chair and came up to the table just laying it on thick. T-Ball had to get involved now. We just acted like we believed every bit of it. Everyone of his exclamations was followed with a “No shit, ya gotta be kidding!” He claimed that Cheevers had personally given it to him. Well if he had given him a mask, then in my opinion it was still hanging on a wall back in his den.

I quiz him, “How much ya want for it, five hundred bucks?” to see how full a shit he really was.
He stammers a bit and says, “Nah, not that much. I want to get two-fifty for ‘er.”

We excused ourselves expressing that we wished him luck and that a hockey collector might stop by with that kinda cash on em so he could sell it.

Me and T-Ball just about couldn’t hold our laughter as we walked back to the truck. That oldster had his head right up his ass, uh huh.

Been at it now all day long and I haven’t seen a log splitter or portable mill. Probably have to get that stuff from Sears and Roebucks alrighty or maybe if I’m lucky for about half their price I’ll find something that won’t fall apart right away from that new tool house they call Harboure Fraight.

We’re just about ready to call it a day when we see some balloons out at the road by a nifty little farm. The tables were set up along side the barn that had been painted a light grey with dark blue trim. Wasn’t a working farm I figured - too dressed up. Long handled gardening tools were for sale leaning up the side a the barn. Crafted items, pies and cookies were on the tables. A spirited, grandmotherly appearing woman was working the sale. She had made all the crafts and pastries she said. She had a nice comforter that was the colors that the honey liked so I worked a good deal and bought it for her. Ya can’t come back empty handed from this kinda weekend extravaganza ya know. Gotta score some brownie points when ya can. She shared some cookies with us - damn fine oatmeal chocolate chip. And we chatted a bit - me trying to bring on the charm.

I asked about the selling of the tools and her decorative barn. She explained that the barn was now set up as guest rooms and that her husband had passed away last year and he had maintained the place. But now she hired a local gardener so the tools were for sale. I told her that we were just a couple a hockey players up from the States.

She said, “Oh, my! My son had played hockey. I forget how much fun it was to go watch him play. Brings back such memories,” she whispered as several tears came to her eyes. “I’ve got some of his stuff I was going to put out but I didn’t think it would sell. He died in a car accident about twelve years ago, you know. Do you want to see what I’ve got. Come on into the tack room at the end of the barn.”

Being interested in maybe making arrangements to crash here later tonight I followed her and let her reminisce. We got into the tack room - maybe it was once but it looked more like a sports den then anything now and smelled of stale cigars. All kinds of stuff was in the room and all neatly arranged along one wall and in a closet. Nothing particularly excited me until I looked in the closet and saw a bundle of hockey sticks. Shit! They were Paul Coffee righty Sherwoods like I used to use and hadn’t seen in years. All brand new! An even dozen of em.

I told her that I was interested in the sticks but I was also interested in a place for the night. She said that she’d sell the sticks and two rooms for only a hundred bucks but it was conditional on us joining her for breakfast and conversation tomorrow morning. I told her that it sounded like a deal but we weren’t sure when we’d be getting up. She said that that would be ok - she’d wait for us. Then she went to get me a couple of keys while I took the Sherwoods out to the truck.

T-Ball had found a bar and grill up the road a piece after talking with a couple of other folks that were browsing the tables. We said our see ya laters and went on up the road.

The place was pretty good. They actually were a microbrewery that had some damn fine amber that went well with anything. I had a lobster dinner (never get enough) with home fries, dinner salad, hot cheese bread and more beer. Timmy had a steak and lobster dinner with a baked potato, clam chowder with homemade crackers and more beer.

We just sorta kept pounding those ambers and around nine a couple of young ladies showed up. T-ball hit on them right away and I joined in the conversation but mainly sat back and watched him work. They had come over from Halifax and one was stunningly beautiful - looked like Nichole Kidman, when she was in Far and Away, except when she smiled. She was missing two teeth in front and had a gold bridge with diamonds set in it that you could easily see. Kinda turned me off but figured that they were conversational so I asked about them. Seems as though she had gotten hit by a puck while watching preseason tryouts for the Bruins some years back. They gave her a big settlement and she thought she’d dress it up a bit with the moola. Kind a made me wonder how much else of her was “dressed up”.

T-Ball, always the ladies man, made his move and tossed me the keys. “Catch ya in the morning Jasper. The ladies and I have got some business to take care of.” And they disappeared out the door.

I order another brew and savored every sip rather then chugging it like the drunken fool I normally was. Paid my tab and headed back to the little hobby farm for the night. At some point in the night the next room got a little noisy so I figured that Timmy and the girls must have finally come back here.

There was tomorrow yet and more yard sales. Maybe I’d still find a log splitter or portable mill like I wanted. This 70 mile yard sail on Prince Edwards Island had been pretty good so far.