Sierra Mountain Times

Garage Sale Impressions:  “Got any Goats?”

The white van drove hurriedly up our long driveway. Sandy and I watched it approach from our sales position behind the card tables. They had driven up quickly, slowing a little as they neared us. They stopped and as the engine was turned off, a family piled out on the side furthest from us. It was the driver we could see best and as he walked back toward the rear of the van he said he had thought this was a road or he would have parked in the cul-de-sac. We had placed signs at the beginning of the driveway asking that people park on the street. They were my design and I thought oh-so-clever. We used cardboard boxes with computer-generated signs taped to the box and the box held in place with a rock. But, obviously, this guy had ignored the sign. As he rounded the rear of the vehicle he looked back at us and asked, “Is this the place that has a goat for sale?” “No,” I responded, “We don’t have any goats.” Right about then a small goat wearing a kerchief around its neck appeared at the rear of the van. “That your goat?” I inquired. Yep he said, “I like goats. Got 70 of them.” Sandy and I glanced at each other as the man disappeared into the barn with his wife and two kids (or should I say three?) Then as suddenly as they had bounded out of the van they were all piling back in. The van started up, backed up quickly and drove back down the driveway. It was then I saw my husband, Gary, walk into the garage and return with a shovel in hand. He walked over to the front of the RV barn and scooped up the deposit left by the kid.

An old pickup truck slowly approached and parked just beyond our table. I noticed it had a Rush Limbaugh sticker on the rear window and hoped he wouldn’t decide to launch into a tirade of right wing vs. liberal media or something. It took him a few minutes to climb out of the pickup and as he did he apologized for not parking on the street. “No problem,” we assured him. “It’s a long driveway,” he said. “I didn’t think I could walk it.” We watched him walk into the RV barn, cane moving along beside him and we knew he was right. He was gone quite awhile before he returned with a 33 1/3 record and announced he wanted to buy it since it was the only good one in the whole cardboard box. I read the label, saw Patty Page’s name, smiled and assured him he was right. “Mind if I sit a bit?” he asked. “I’m awfully tired.” “Sure,” we responded and asked if he wanted any water. He declined and remarked how getting old was hard. “I shoulda died a year ago and made everyone happy,” he said matter-of-factly. He sat there for a couple of hours watching the coming and going and only after he left did Gary find out none of us knew him. He just wanted to sit awhile.

They continued to come, husbands and wives, mothers with kids (I mean children); men walking by themselves and heading straight for the tools. We sat and watched this constant stream of people, almost all of whom were extremely friendly and stopped to chat awhile.