Sunday, market day

Sunday morning is no time for lazing about. Sunday is flea market day, and the goal is to get out the door after one small coffee for a morning drive to some nearby village and eager vendors with all sorts of fascinating things to sell. There are several kinds of outdoor flea markets, fancy schmancy antiquity markets, more modest brocantes and the truly modest vide greniers. Brocantes can be fancy or modest, large and small, with everything from beautiful carved bonnetiere to old faience and ancient tools.   Vide Greniers -- literally, emptying the granary -- are closer to what Americans might think of as a neighborhood yard sale but with vendors whose families may have been in the neighborhood for centuries, collecting some pretty wonderful old stuff the entire time.  Vide Greniers are much less pricey than the other fleas and I've bought everything from a used iron for 1 euro to fine  hand-embroidered linen pillow cases that would cost four times more in a brocante. 

Professional antique dealers with fancy shops get to the brocantes and vide greniers early before things have been picked over and the heat of the day has set in. In the summer, tourists start pouring in around 10 so the goal is to get there around 8, earlier for some markets like Villeneuve-les-Avignon where everything is out and buyers already are negotiating full force by 7.

Every market has its own style and feeling and every object has its story so just asking, "what's this?" can generate an entire history lesson or a glimpse into an mostly forgotten way of life.  Last weekend I saw my first silk bobbins, lovely carved wooden arcs of less than 3 inches shaped like waves. I purchased two with colorful silk thread still wound tight and ready for use in making a pinafore or bustled skirt. The bobbins date from the Industrial Revolution and when I asked about them I was lucky enough to hear a long history of the silk trade, the worms raised in the Ardeche and the flourishing 18th century silk industry in Lyons.

Often, I just wander through the markets listening to conversations and watching the interactions between buyers and sellers, couples, friends and families, all out shopping for the day.  But if I'm not careful, I also can wind up with an empty wallet by late Sunday afternoon.  So last weekend I set of goal of not spending for any single object more than I'd spend on seeing a movie. Here's what I brought home.  Christmas presents?  Perhaps, if I can bear to part with them.  

A tiny, perfect porcelain vase made in Limoges.  My friend Guy said it was for a "rose d'amour."  He was making fun of me, but I think he's right.  It's just perfect for a single, tiny tea rose from someone you love.

A funky, handpainted souvenir, probably from the 1920's and found here:

There were two, and the other one said "Souvenir de Monte Carlo."

Six yards of 19th century, handmade lace.  I've been buying a lot of lace lately and am going to do a future post on what I've learned. Regardless, it's just so pretty. Stitch this on anything and it would be elegant.

A plastic piggy bank in the form of a French post-office box.  A dealer threw this in as a gift with another small purchase. Very silly.  Love it.

A pretty glass bottle with tiny red flowers painted in relief around its fat belly and a bright green line around the rim, like a choker around a pretty girl's neck.

A tiny Berger pitcher, big enough for a Pastis for one. 

A hand-painted, blue and white vase from Moustiers, with a bird on one side, a musician and bird on the other and little bees and flowers on the top.

A pair of 18th century cast-iron locks from an old commode or armoire. I dug through a large tin box containing dozens of other patterns before I picked this one. They were all pretty and I learned you can use these locks to help date a piece of furniture.  I'm going back to that antique hardware vendor -- an woman of about 85 in a well-used straw hat who drives a hard bargain -- to learn more about the lovely locks she sells.

A tart baking dish from Luneville, which has been making faience in this same pattern for about 300 years. The mark on this one, which looks brand new, is from around 1922 -- which is new by brocante standards.

With all of these objects and a few more on the back seat of the car, I drove home from the markets through a valley filled at every turn with wisteria and the first pale leaves of spring. An altogether satisfying Sunday.