Yesterday, my life changed forever, again. I guess I’ve finally begun to put my money where my mouth is, to honor a slogan I’ve been sporting on t-shirts I started having made about three years ago. The t-shirts are part of the antiques market I’ve hosted in Fayetteville Texas at the same time as the widely known Round Top Antiques Fair. You mention Fayetteville to pilgrims from Houston or Austin, and they usually think of Czech polka music and hearty country cooking. Maybe, just maybe, they’ve paid attention to the sweetest little courthouse in Texas that is situated in the middle of the town square. Generally, if you mention Round Top to just about anywhere in the U. S. to a serious collector or person in the trade, they nod, “yes”, I know about Round Top. Maybe they even come to the area to sell or buy. Actually, the Round Top show itself is only part of the three-week long pageant-orgy of selling and buying that includes a huge market at Marburger Farms, the fields at Warrenton, smaller show sites at Carmine, Shelby, and things for sale in the fields and along the roadside for more miles than I can calculate. All this began in 1968 with the original Round Top show in tiny Round Top Texas, whose population was 77 in the 2000 census. During the markets, the “population” surges to many thousands.
On the front side my t-shirts read FOR SALE—ALL MY EARTHLY POSSESSIONS. On the back the design has changed each time, but all of the designs are built around a simple image of some Texas relic, all of which are the property of the artist, handed down from his Brazos County, Texas grandfather—a wired-together, still-holding-up cowhide chair, a pair of Colt pistols, Charlie Dunn cowboy boots, a sweat-stained Stetson hat. I’ve sold a few of the shirts, given away probably as many, and I still own a lot of them. They’ve caught the attention of a few people. Ever so often someone will comment, “I love your shirt”. And a few people have asked for the story, or I’ve volunteered—one of the many rabbit trails I take people down when I get strung out on my life and my hunt for treasure.
Back in the early 1990s I made one of my annual treks to northern New Mexico. And as usual, when it came time to return to Houston, I yearned to stay in New Mexico. Of course, I worked, owned a home filled with lots of treasures, had lots of bills, and after all, I had failed a test of maturity in 1967 when I couldn’t step up to entertain seriously the possibility of a teaching job in Santa Fe. My oldest sister reminded me a couple of years ago during a conversation in our mother’s den, Mother fretting over my safety driving out to New Mexico…“Mother,” I pleaded, “just be happy for me. I’ve worked my butt off getting ready for this trip. And besides, if I had taken that teaching job in Santa Fe in 1967, I might have been living there all this time.” “I remember,” Joan said. “Daddy was all for it, and Mother clipped your wings.” I wish I could just say “whatever,” as I often do, having taken on the habit of the twenty-somethings. This was too serious, however.
At the time of the trip in the early 1990s, a popular billboard seen on Houston freeways advertising the Houston Chronicle classifieds pictured a twenty-something guy, lotus position, and the slogan, FOR SALE—ALL MY EARTHLY POSSESSIONS. As I prepared to leave New Mexico that summer, this billboard was on my mind, and I thought, “One of these days….”
Thanks to my Aunt Mary, who turned 90 last September, I was introduced to Americana as a recent college graduate in the late 60s. She was decorating the rambling colonial home she and her husband, William Woodrow, “Frog” for short, had built on a couple of acres in the country, west of Houston. Those two acres have been part of the city for many years now. I was a poor school teacher, barely able to pay rent and the payment on the Chevrolet Corvair my parents had bought me my senior year in college. Nonetheless, I loved to go antiquing with Aunt Mary on cool fall Saturdays. They used to happen in Houston by early October. It seems that’s changed though. From the beginning of these experiences with Aunt Mary, I knew I loved country furniture and arts, what many refer to as primitives, although the word is misleading for the unschooled. Primitive intends naïve, simple, folk-inspired renderings of everything that one might find in an American dwelling of the 18th and 19th centuries, even into the early 20th century…furniture, utilitarian accessories, bed trappings, art for the wall. The list is long, the traditions varied by culture, and the appeal to the initiated is as someone once described, “achingly wonderful”. From the beginning I was drawn to things from New England. I loved especially the little things…boxes, baskets…and I loved old, undisturbed surfaces. PAINT!!!
By the early 1970s I was able to scrounge out buying some of these treasures that spoke to me so keenly, and I built a small collection. My interests changed though in the mid 80s when I realized in mid-life that I have strong Texas roots—fourth generation in fact. My great-grandmother Louisa Benfer Fuchs, celebrated her first birthday and learned to walk during the crossing from Westafalia to Galveston in 1866. Her family settled in the Klein community, northwest Harris County, now part of the great octopus called Houston, and their names are one of seven on the Texas Historic Commission marker for Klein. Benfer Elementary is named for my great-great grandparents. Ranching and cattle form part of my heritage…even rodeo. Although my collecting passion took a new direction at age 40, I wasn’t able to let go of a small group of the treasures from New England that I had indeed sacrificed to own on a teacher’s salary. That all changed yesterday, as I helped most of those treasures into a friend and customer’s truck.
The year 2007 was one of great change for our family. Although our Daddy died many years ago, on the first day of spring in 1981, our mother was with us until February 1, 2007. In a way, my two sisters and I are faced with re-inventing ourselves. Perhaps re-purposing is a better term, although for our middle sister, Sue, who married young and now has even a great grandson, the day-to-day realities have been a little less pronounced. I went to northern New Mexico in June 2007, and without knowing ahead of time, I leased an apartment. Circumstances changed quickly, and I bought a condominium. And now, most of the family place here in Leon County Texas, including the two-story barn I made into a home, is for sale.
It’s a long journey for some to sit in the lotus position. I haven’t perfected my technique yet. But I’ve said for most of this year, “I’m going to start selling my collection. I don’t need to own all these things. And I don’t want to leave the job of dispersing them to someone else.” The advice I heard a few years ago, “Harold, just because you love something doesn’t mean you have to own it,” must be true and right. Or did she say, “…you don’t have to buy it”? As I heard my mother say sometimes to a friend who could also speak a little German, “macht nichts”…translates “whatever”. How forward thinking they were. I am a pilgrim, and my journey continues.
For Sale—All My Earthly Possessions, from Normangee Texas (January 6, 2008)
R. Harold Hollis
On the front side my t-shirts read FOR SALE—ALL MY EARTHLY POSSESSIONS. On the back the design has changed each time, but all of the designs are built around a simple image of some Texas relic, all of which are the property of the artist, handed down from his Brazos County, Texas grandfather—a wired-together, still-holding-up cowhide chair, a pair of Colt pistols, Charlie Dunn cowboy boots, a sweat-stained Stetson hat. I’ve sold a few of the shirts, given away probably as many, and I still own a lot of them. They’ve caught the attention of a few people. Ever so often someone will comment, “I love your shirt”. And a few people have asked for the story, or I’ve volunteered—one of the many rabbit trails I take people down when I get strung out on my life and my hunt for treasure.
Back in the early 1990s I made one of my annual treks to northern New Mexico. And as usual, when it came time to return to Houston, I yearned to stay in New Mexico. Of course, I worked, owned a home filled with lots of treasures, had lots of bills, and after all, I had failed a test of maturity in 1967 when I couldn’t step up to entertain seriously the possibility of a teaching job in Santa Fe. My oldest sister reminded me a couple of years ago during a conversation in our mother’s den, Mother fretting over my safety driving out to New Mexico…“Mother,” I pleaded, “just be happy for me. I’ve worked my butt off getting ready for this trip. And besides, if I had taken that teaching job in Santa Fe in 1967, I might have been living there all this time.” “I remember,” Joan said. “Daddy was all for it, and Mother clipped your wings.” I wish I could just say “whatever,” as I often do, having taken on the habit of the twenty-somethings. This was too serious, however.
At the time of the trip in the early 1990s, a popular billboard seen on Houston freeways advertising the Houston Chronicle classifieds pictured a twenty-something guy, lotus position, and the slogan, FOR SALE—ALL MY EARTHLY POSSESSIONS. As I prepared to leave New Mexico that summer, this billboard was on my mind, and I thought, “One of these days….”
Thanks to my Aunt Mary, who turned 90 last September, I was introduced to Americana as a recent college graduate in the late 60s. She was decorating the rambling colonial home she and her husband, William Woodrow, “Frog” for short, had built on a couple of acres in the country, west of Houston. Those two acres have been part of the city for many years now. I was a poor school teacher, barely able to pay rent and the payment on the Chevrolet Corvair my parents had bought me my senior year in college. Nonetheless, I loved to go antiquing with Aunt Mary on cool fall Saturdays. They used to happen in Houston by early October. It seems that’s changed though. From the beginning of these experiences with Aunt Mary, I knew I loved country furniture and arts, what many refer to as primitives, although the word is misleading for the unschooled. Primitive intends naïve, simple, folk-inspired renderings of everything that one might find in an American dwelling of the 18th and 19th centuries, even into the early 20th century…furniture, utilitarian accessories, bed trappings, art for the wall. The list is long, the traditions varied by culture, and the appeal to the initiated is as someone once described, “achingly wonderful”. From the beginning I was drawn to things from New England. I loved especially the little things…boxes, baskets…and I loved old, undisturbed surfaces. PAINT!!!
By the early 1970s I was able to scrounge out buying some of these treasures that spoke to me so keenly, and I built a small collection. My interests changed though in the mid 80s when I realized in mid-life that I have strong Texas roots—fourth generation in fact. My great-grandmother Louisa Benfer Fuchs, celebrated her first birthday and learned to walk during the crossing from Westafalia to Galveston in 1866. Her family settled in the Klein community, northwest Harris County, now part of the great octopus called Houston, and their names are one of seven on the Texas Historic Commission marker for Klein. Benfer Elementary is named for my great-great grandparents. Ranching and cattle form part of my heritage…even rodeo. Although my collecting passion took a new direction at age 40, I wasn’t able to let go of a small group of the treasures from New England that I had indeed sacrificed to own on a teacher’s salary. That all changed yesterday, as I helped most of those treasures into a friend and customer’s truck.
The year 2007 was one of great change for our family. Although our Daddy died many years ago, on the first day of spring in 1981, our mother was with us until February 1, 2007. In a way, my two sisters and I are faced with re-inventing ourselves. Perhaps re-purposing is a better term, although for our middle sister, Sue, who married young and now has even a great grandson, the day-to-day realities have been a little less pronounced. I went to northern New Mexico in June 2007, and without knowing ahead of time, I leased an apartment. Circumstances changed quickly, and I bought a condominium. And now, most of the family place here in Leon County Texas, including the two-story barn I made into a home, is for sale.
It’s a long journey for some to sit in the lotus position. I haven’t perfected my technique yet. But I’ve said for most of this year, “I’m going to start selling my collection. I don’t need to own all these things. And I don’t want to leave the job of dispersing them to someone else.” The advice I heard a few years ago, “Harold, just because you love something doesn’t mean you have to own it,” must be true and right. Or did she say, “…you don’t have to buy it”? As I heard my mother say sometimes to a friend who could also speak a little German, “macht nichts”…translates “whatever”. How forward thinking they were. I am a pilgrim, and my journey continues.
For Sale—All My Earthly Possessions, from Normangee Texas (January 6, 2008)
R. Harold Hollis
3 comments:
Harold, what a great story and great advise. My husband and I have decided that before we're too old we're going to sell it all, if not it'll wind up in a burn pile since neither of our boys care much for our "junk", as they kiddingly refer to it as!! Are you bringing any of your shirts to the show?
Harold, I stumbled upon your blog while searching for venues in Warrenton/Round Top to sell - I have recently started to blog - although my blogging "friends" are very intimidating(that is a whole 'nuther story!) - and found it a fascinating world. You are talented in many ways, and you are an exceptional writer! Fun to get a glimpse into your life. I, too, am wrestling with "just because you love it, you don't have to buy it!!" Again, I should be setting up with you in Fayetteville! What are your dates this spring?
Harold,
I just discovered your blog, and I am so grateful. I, too, have been pursuing magical northern New Mexico for most of my 60+ years. Alas, never a risk-taker, I remain buried in the concrete of Houston....coward. By chance, did you know the late Kitty Estill? She was my mentor, and through her, I became thoroughly besotted with the regal beauty of primitives. I am still insanely engaged in the quest. Recently, I attended the June Worrell estate auction and was soberly reminded that we collectors come, and we go. We are the oh-so-temporary caretakers of our cherished pieces. Blessings.
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