Trippin' On Barns and A Burger Joint

Last Saturday, Howard and I headed out

in his car for a little drive northwest of here.

Goodbye, That Old House and Trusty Red Minivan.

We are backing out of the driveway and hitting the road.

I don't think I've ever shared a picture of our TRASH CANS before.  Class.  Pure class.

I was on the trail of the famous Annie Sloan Chalk Paint,

and hoping for a few good pictures along the backroads of New Jersey.

Howard was on the trail of lunch at someplace interesting.

We both found what we wanted.

Just south of our goal of Lafayette, New Jersey, we passed this old building:

 I want to think it's an old school, but I have to be honest; it's an old church, no longer used.

It's in rough shape, but someone wisely put Plexiglas over the last stained glass window for protection. 

Paint job, anyone?

Looks like That Old House before last June's makeover.

I do love those shingles on the steeple.  All alligator-y & scaly looking.

Once upon a time, someone put a lot of work into this house of worship.

Just up Route 15 is our goal -- the small town of Lafayette, which is Mecca for antiques lovers.

I was headed for this place, below, to invest in some chalk paint.

Yes, you buy regular paint.  You invest in the Annie Sloan stuff; it's -- um -- costly.

That's Howard trying to beat me to the door, so he can get in first, hollering,
"Crazy woman right behind me!  Don't sell her ANYTHING!"

 There was a mill on this property years ago; the mill race still flows.

 On Route 15, across the stream, are lots and lots and lots of other places to spend your greenbacks.

Which would be greenbacks well spent, as there are lots and lots and lots of beautiful things.

There's even a gift shop called The Chocolate Goat.

The goat outside the door is, sadly, not made of genuine chocolate. I tested.

Anyway, I bought chalk paint in Old White and Paris Grey, and I'll let you know how I like using it.

Howard, meanwhile, had gotten faint and hungry from signing the credit card slip at Sweet P.E.A.'s for the chalk paint, 

so we continued up Route 15 looking for a likely lunch stop, and found a place called Chatterbox,

which is in Augusta, New Jersey.  Who knew there was an Augusta, New Jersey?  I didn't.

But then I've only lived in the Garden State for twenty-five years.

Chatterbox is a trip.

The view from my seat:

 Or, if I looked the other way, this:

Great fun place, and plopped in what seems to this city girl like the middle of nowhere.

Especially when I can look out the windows and see this:

Yes!  Old barns!

And here they are, ready for their closeups, Mr. DeMille.

The largest barn:

 Used to be red, apparently.

I'm thinking this one may still be in use, but I'm not sure I'd go into it.

Next, this barn, complete with silo:

 Clearly no longer in use.  At least, I hope not.

 Hmm, also used to be red, if the color up under the eaves is any indication.

And the last one of the three, and in the roughest shape, is this little fellow:

Also a former redhead.

It must take one heck of a lot of summers and winters to wear off red barn paint so thoroughly.

If you are interested in visiting Lafayette for antiques, or paint, or chocolate goats,

click here for listings of dealers and shops.

Or, shoppes, if you prefer.

For the Chatterbox website, click here.

Or, just come along with me the next time I visit! -- Cass

P. S.  My daughter Annie's managing with her right arm in a sling; thanks for the kind wishes yesterday.

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Old Stuff, New Stuff, More Old Stuff

Just a couple of miles from That Old House,
on a well-traveled local road, is this:

 A barn --

empty, its boards gray and weathered, in the manner of old barn wood.

The barn grew with its farm, form following function,

addition tacked onto addtion.

The whole thing, barn and setting, ragged and raw, looks right.

I think the vines and scrub trees are helping it stand up.

The barn is part of the landscape now; it looks at home.

Across the street, on this barn's old farm land, are these:

Some people call these McMansions.

Unless you live in one, in which case you call it home.

Time.  It sure can change the crop that's springs up on farmland.

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On Sunday, Howard and I bought a really sweet little kidney-shaped

ladies' desk, and managed to squeeze it into my tiny antiques booth:

It is in such perfect 1930s original shape, the mahogany with great patina,

and even the leather top is intact and gorgeous:

Anyway -- I thought I had already done a post
on the things my friend Emily and I chased around all over New Jersey 
to pick up a week ago, and bring to the booth.

But it turns out, I had not.
Doh.
So, here it is -- the stuff we got last Tuesday.

From an elderly gentleman moving into assisted living, a little carved corner cabinet:

It's just so danged cute and small -- dainty, really.  It would look wonderful painted creamy white.

Or pink.  Yes, pink -- for a little girl's room.  Can't you see dolls on it?

At one of my favorite thrift shops, a nicely scaled open cupboard.
Old antiqued green, red, gold paint.
Chipped from use, not from "hey, let's make this chippy" efforts.
At the thrift shop:

Here it is, held hostage in my mini-van.
I thought I could fit both this cupboard AND the washstand I'd bought into the van, together.
But . . . no.  Reminder: measure first.
Two trips.  It was a long Tuesday, last week.  Thank goodness Emily is a good sport!

 At the booth.

Next . . . an old lift-top washstand.
Here it is, at the thrift shop:

This is also sometimes called a "commode," but it is not what some people think of when they
hear the word "commode," which is my long and euphemistic way of saying, "This is not a potty."

At the booth:

I put a small, subtle sign on it, by way of explanation.
When the top is lifted, there's space inside for a bowl-and-pitcher.
The little drawer on the left would have held toiletries -- razor, soap, etc.
The door underneath hid a slop jar, for used wash water.

I love the pine in this wash stand.

These were the en suite bathrooms of their day.

And speaking of old things . . . 
here's a picture of my favorite antique, posing with the wash stand, lifting its top, at the booth on Sunday:

He is not for sale.
I had to hang a "for display only" sign on him.
The ladies were just linin' up.

Have a lovely Tuesday, my friends -- Cass

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