Baxter, a Maine Antiques Picker, is Back For the Summer

Baxter, a Maine Antiques Picker, is Back For the Summer

            Baxter, one of the local antiques pickers, has returned “SOUTH” (Maine middle coastal area) for the summer.  We’ve posted about him a few times so search his post label; “Baxter”, for earlier posts.  This year I saw him first, like a spring Robin hunting worms, pacing the local outdoor flea market in the dewy dawn light.  “Gusta” (Augusta) he said when I asked him where he “wintered”.  “DID GOOD!” he said.

            Then he didn’t say any more and scampered off to scout down every dealer on the field AND procure anything he “can sell” from the few early vendors.  He’ll be there three times a week, in the dark and even in the rain.  “Can never tell.” is his only stated qualification.  “Up anyway” is his stated status.

            In good physical shape for his mid fifties age, he is long married to “the wife”, very clean, always clean shaven and always combed.  He wears pressed clean work clothes, Bean boots and a ball cap.  He avoids application of insect repellent (“Women’s hair spray attracts ‘em”), does very little talking, keeps moving and does quick pay-in-cash purchasing.  Well known, popular and gracious, particularly with women collectors and dealers, he’s hard to beat.  He knows his stuff too for I remind that he is full time picker and has done this for a living for forty years.

            Hidden on the other side of his professional privacy, Baxter’s candid side is pure spoken Maine antiques picker.  It only comes out when he is sure that he is alone with “his kind of people”; veteran Maine antiques dealers who he has known and done business with “for years”.  A natural oral story teller, his litany of current adventures awaits capture by the knowing ear.  His contact with so many characters, his dutiful mimic and satire of these contacts, the trail of antiques woven deep in his abash of the characters, the setting of that encounter verbally painted and, usually, a canny detailing of the contact’s general failure to recognize just how complex an antiquarian AND picker they are dealing with… has left this writer; an antique yarn hunter… well supplied with precious stories of just how does Baxter “do this”.  The closest capture of these yarns is …always falling short… of the actual expressive richness of Baxter’s standing up before one “TELLING” of “A STORY”.

            No sooner then his “being sure” that I was still “in business” did Baxter begin his regular at dawn visits to me as is his preferred doing.  He knows that I am “up” and “doing business” “then”; a time of day that unless he’s at the flea market, is “hard to find someone” open for business.  The advantage to me is that Baxter’s over-night-researched-by-“the wife” “fresh pickings” of the day before… are offered to me… first.  Also, at that hour and with a cup of “good” coffee he counts on… he “hangs around a little too long I guess, huh.”  That’s when a yarn hunter captures one of his stories.

            This first morning he opened our summer trade by offering us a set of six diamond point patterned “wines” (?) (small goblets).  ALL PERFECT early American pressed glass; flint glass of the earliest type including ground pontil bottoms and lasting bell tone rings he “NEW ENGLAND MUST BE” meaning made by the New England Glass Company or… “SANDWICH MAYBE?”.

            “New England” I said.

            “PERFECT!  NICE SET!”

             I bought them.  My wife went off to the glass shed and returned with a diamond point spooner with coin silver spoons it.  “That’s all (in this pattern) we have” she said.  Baxter handled the spooner and looked at me

            “Not as fine” I said. “Still good and early though”.  He nodded.

            Then looked at me again.  “Pretty fine set then?” he queried.

            “Very fine” I said “You have to handle the stuff to notice the difference”.

            Baxter looked at me, picked up a goblet, then picked up the spooner.  He looked at me again.

            “Most people would never notice that difference” I said.

            “I do.  Now.” he said.

            “I do too and I don’t even have to touch them” I said.

            Then we talked for over an hour. Two of his “last winter” tales I captured and will write up in forth coming posts.  Baxter… “he’s a wily one!”