The Bizarre Bazaar
By Lorna Stuber
Every spring and autumn on a Thursday and Friday, donations from residents of Hanna and surrounding communities fill the curling rink and skating rink. They are sold on the Saturday.
Proceeds from the Hanna rummage sale go to the Hanna hospital auxiliary. Over the years, the funds have enabled the hospital to buy a mammogram machine and provide free TV in each room. And much more.
What still dumbfounds me after decades is the amount of money that’s raised: usually $20,000 to $25,000 twice a year. And it’s not because items sell for a high price. Paperback books are twenty-five cents, and hardcovers are fifty cents. Coffee mugs are ten cents. The furniture section has bigger ticket items, with a nice sofa going for around $100, maybe a bit more. But a quarter here and a dollar there adds up when both the skating and curling rink are filled at the beginning of the day and people come from hours away to scoop up “bargoons”.
Everyone who has been before has a plan. As soon as the doors open at 10am sharp, shoppers make a beeline for their top priority table, whether it be books, dishes, toys, or tools.
My favourite table? The “new” table.
What’s on the new table? New stuff! Keep in mind, “new” only means it’s never been used. Bargain hunters may find recently produced items that were in excess at some of the local stores, donated by managers who are clearing out surplus inventory.
But the best of the new table is what random people donate. We all have those “new” items stashed away in our basements or closets: wedding, birthday, or baby gifts that were never used; stuff we bought and forgot about; stuff we found when cleaning out our aging or dead parents’ homes and discovered that they had never used. I’ve seen items on the new table that were forty years old and aren’t manufactured any more but were still new in the box.
One of my favourite purchases from the new table was a box of highlighter pens. The box was spacious enough for twelve, but there were only nine in the box. I snatched them up. Fifty cents for nine highlighters. How can you beat that?
I can’t walk out of the rummage sale without at least one full box of books. And if my book total ends up being something like $3.25, I hand the volunteer a $5 bill and tell them to keep the change. After all, the money benefits the community I grew up in.
When my parents lived on their farm ten miles from Hanna, Dad always needed jeans. He didn’t care if the jeans he wore while working with cattle or in the field had a couple of holes in them, as long as they still covered most of him. Mom always looked for jeans for him at the rummage sale.
Mom brought home a pair one time, in his size. Fifty cents was the going rate. Nothing wrong with these jeans at all—no holes, no stains. They looked new.
When he came out of the bedroom to show her that they fit perfectly, he stuck his hands in the pockets and pulled out a $5 bill.
On another occasion, I was staying with my parents for a few days leading up to the sale. Mom came home on the Thursday night after volunteering and showed us her pre-shopping treasures. (Volunteers get to pre-shop.) Among several practical items was a ceramic Herford bull, about a foot long. It was a piggy bank and there was something inside, but in order to find out what the bull contained, we would have to smash it as there was no escape hatch. We decided to leave it intact.
“What’s the story with that?” I asked Mom.
“I had to buy it. I thought it was irresista-bull,” she smirked.
I rolled my eyes.
My hilarious mother, always so prim and proper, but she does have her moments.
“I love it! What are you going to do with it?” I asked.
“Here.”
She gave it to me. It proudly stands in my spare bedroom for visitors to enjoy.
I live a three-hour drive from Hanna. I would love to volunteer to help collect and organize the donations; extra help is always welcome. Since I live too far way to commit to three days, I try to go on sale day. It’s a fun social event in addition to a treasure hunt. I am guaranteed to run into former classmates and long-time family friends and enjoy a few laughs while searching for bargains and supporting my home community.
Lorna Stuber is a freelance editor and writer based in Okotoks, AB. She grew up on a cattle ranch ten miles southeast of Hanna.