First of all I must say this place was WAY too chic for my limited budget but WOW am I happy we ended up here! When we drove in I was already in love with the place because there were gargoyles and eccentric garden statuary in the parking lot. Inside it was swaaaaaannnnkkk. A full body of armour greeted us as did the delightful sound of old French music as Edith Piaf sang in the background. My little international heart may have skipped a few beats (I’ve never heard Edith Piaf played in a store??)
ANYWAY. This place was of moderate size but wow did it have some crazy beautiful things, all with such class. Ornate gothic furniture, a carousel horse, grandiose mirrors, folk art paintings on one wall, and not a speck of dust to be seen anywhere. Although it wasn’t without a sense of humor as someone did leave a fake spilled coffee out to incite a few gasps.
LOVED this place. Would totally go here for furniture if I were loaded. Maybe someday… Did I mention it had a guest book? An antique store… with a guest book. So cute. ANYWAY.
Last week it was raining so our adventures ended up being indoors at a few antique places. This first one in Clinton CT was another one of those TARDIS experiences – it looked bigger on this inside. In fact this place was HUGE with antiques shoved in every nook and corner and even hanging from the ceilings. And right away it showed its unique character as being absolutely stuffed to the gills with knives. And swords. And even firearms. Just a whole arsenal really – including a CANE SWORD. In case you want to be a Victorian James Bond.
I was not disappointed with the selection of creepy dolls but they were out staged by a large assortment of eccentric (and often woefully tacky) clocks. Wall clocks. Cuckoo clocks. Grandfather clocks. Watches. A Nixen dressed as Superman clock. Anything at all with which to tell the time which is ironic since the other thing we found there, scattered in a few random pieces throughout the store, was World War II artifacts including but not limited to a Nazi helmet and several things emblazoned in full swastikas.
“I didn’t know it was legal to sell that…”
“Legal? I don’t think it’s illegal… just not something most antique stores want to be associated with…”
And it’s true a lot of these places have these artifacts in the backroom only to be seen when specifically asked about or they refuse to carry them at all. Bad karma. It was a little emotionally distressing to see but I guess there’s a collector for everything and I am aware of at least a few Jewish collectors who go for these items (God knows why…) Let’s hope they were the buyers keeping them in business and not the skinheads we have all become way too accustomed to.
There was also a really well taxidermied blood hound just randomly mixed in with everything else. I ended up buying some marbles which were obviously created by some amateur with a homemade forge. They were “irregular” to say the least – an assortment of sizes, and none of them perfectly round. It was a bottle of wonky marbles. How could I leave them there?
After being less than satisfied with the antique store next door we decided to walk over to this boutique to see that it was all about. It’s right off the highway literally on the exit ramp. As such I flew by it but still saw enough to be intrigued. And I wasn’t the only one as there were other cars in the little parking lot.
We wandered in expecting to find antiques as we had only seen the ‘tiques part of their road sign and instead we ended up in this little clothing store. The women tending this place gave my bedraggled figure a dubious look (they always do when I enter a boutique as I’m either dressed to the hilt or more often dressed completely down with a sweat soaked T-shirt being my centerpiece which is what was going on on this particular day.)
This place was bonkers. I’m just going to say that right out. It had a delightful array of seemingly 70’s inspired garb – the most shocking of which was a hunter’s orange polyester power suit. It was chunky, hideous, and I would have totally bought it if I was an office cougar. You know… so I could go ‘hunting’ at work.
I was flush out of cash and unfortunately way too *ahem* curvaceous for a boutique otherwise I may have ended up bringing home some embroidered paisley jeans or a nice paisley button up. I just like paisleys. And peacock fashion. We should totally bring back peacock fashion… And maybe some of these seemingly disco-esque designs as well. So fun.
Outside we found out this boutique was right next to a cute little coffee shop and there were all sorts of little cafe-like areas to sit and enjoy including little gardens and a view of the highway. I found it all quite charming.
It was just one of those days that neither one of us really wanted to go home so instead we found the nearest oddly named antique store to where we were and decided to have at it. I mean at that rate why not?
And Rusty Rabbit Antiques is indeed adorably named and has a series of bunnies (including Bugs) decorating the sign at the entrance. It was right off the highway in an odd little nook intersection. I thought I’d passed it as there’s a boutique right on the off ramp a few feet up the road and all I saw was the ‘tique part of their sign. No matter I figured it out!
It was a small place and excessively cramped. We walked in and there really wasn’t enough room for the four people in the building including the clerk and three customers. There were only several rooms here, again very tight. The antiques were in good condition and displayed well despite being cramped but they seemed to be mostly standard faire. Hummel figurines, old postcards, salt and pepper shakers, and knickknacks galore. It was kind of like visiting a hoarder-y grandmother’s house.
The most unique items we found was a Wizard of Oz bulletin board art piece that some local highschooler probably made for a school project (let’s hope!) and a furry troll doll. Neither one of us could figure out why he was fluffy like a teddy bear. Is he perhaps of Mediterranean descent? Nobody knows… Oh! And a postcard of the devastation wrought by the hurricane of 1938 which just showed a massive pile of wreckage that was once someone’s home. I found that an odd subject for a postcard which are usually pleasant photos of vacation spots with the message “wish you were here” not a cry for help when your home gets demolished.
Anyway, this was a fun but quick distraction. I wouldn’t say you should go out of your way to see it but if you happen to be in the area anyway it’s not a bad place to poke around for a few minutes.
This week’s adventure brought us to Umbrella Factory which FaceBook has been suggesting for a few weeks before it was again suggested by my hiking buddy that explored the Freetown State Forest with me. I admit I didn’t know what it was… but just the fact it came so highly recommended was all I needed.
My travel companion was even more confused. He thought we were going to an actual factory that makes umbrellas. Not quite. It was another one of those quirky little places nestled in what seems to be a residential neighborhood. There were No Parking signs half a mile up the road so this place must get craaaaazy busy.
To be honest I didn’t know what to expect either as I was just given the vaguest idea of what I was going to. And when I drove in and saw a sign reading “general store” I was like oh boy, here we go again. The general store was more of a gift store. It was small, in what looked to be a repurposed house, but boy did it have the best selection of random funny things I have seen in a long while, if ever. Far from the usual Live, Laugh, Love signs this place had everything from jokey bumper stickers, to ironically named soap, to classic rock inspired Tarot cards, and the perfect assortment of gag gifts for anyone with an off sense of humor. There was even a series of angry candles with scents that included Fuck Around & Find Out and Fuck Your Abortion Law. When the candles start getting pissed maybe it’s a sign old white men should stop legislating uteruses. Just a thought.
Upstairs seemed like a totally different adventure. Here there was a whole floor dedicated to simple musical instruments like thumb pianos and thunder tubes. Beyond them was a room full of various African art. LOVED the rooster by the way. And my companion? Well, he blew through the duck caller and when it quacked he jumped so that was funny all around. And I got to play with a wooden xylophone which always makes me stupidly happy (even though I have exactly no musical talent.)
After this we went outside and out back there was a little courtyard type thing with a flower garden, a booth for a silhouette artist, a little cafe, and some free-range chickens. Oh, and a paddock of emus. Which were thumping away. I love the weird drumming noise the females make. It’s something else. Really rubs in how much of a dinosaur those birds are.
“Where are their arms?”
“…They’re birds they don’t have arms… you mean wings? They have vestigial wings. They’re only like half a foot long though.”
I forgot how much I enjoyed free range chickens. Their behavior is so different from penned ones. So much more relaxed and happy.
Out here there was also a bamboo forest. Now I have fought bamboo my entire life. Once that shit starts growing it’s nearly goddamn impossible to kill it and it spreads and uuuuugggggghhhhh. However, I’d never let my patches of bamboo grow into a forest, nor even seen a bamboo forest before. It was… really weird. Almost like climbing through grass if I were an ant. There was a little maze out here in the bamboo with a rudimentary shelter of sorts made of stacks of the stuff. I must say it was a unique experience.
Also within this veritable little village of weird house shops there were a few hippie boutiques as well as a shop for indigenous art that seemed to be run by the local tribe. That was cool. I always like to see that.
Throughout all this we found a lot of weird things but no umbrellas for sale (‘least we missed them.) It was an adventure best summarized by my companion’s comment, “I wasn’t expecting emus today.” No, because no one expects emus.
This antique store was the reason we ended up going to The Dinosaur Place – because if we didn’t like the dinosaurs there was always an antique store to pick up the flak. We did very much enjoy both but ooph! This antique store would have been worth it just as a singular destination.
When we walked in it was…. swank. A large building with everything neatly arranged and tasteful music playing softly in the background. You know the sort of place you might wonder if you won’t be kicked out for loitering like that last antique store I ventured into on my own… but the old man at the counter was very sweet and told us all about the basement we should also check out. First though we’d poke at some terribly dramatic Gothic looking furniture and play with some terrifying dolls (an antique store without properly haunted dolls is a failure in my eyes.) And then we stumbled into THE FROG ROOM. A whole room dedicated to frogs! And it just made me so happy. What’s not to love about a swarm of adorable frogs?? Actually, it reminded me of my grandmother. She had hundreds of them in her house… I’d spend hours as a child counting them. Frog bric-o-bracs, frog salt and pepper shakers, frog wall art, frog lawn ornaments… frogs, frogs, frogs. Can’t beat it!
But after this we decided to go check out that basement. And WOW. Yes, it was much larger and seemed to be miles of random antiques. This was more what we were used to. Had a COMPLETELY different feel than upstairs. We poked around every corner – through trees of weird hats, many jars of marbles, and then at the very end we found the trifecta that hit all three categories of shit I like to find. It was a creepy doll, a clown, and racist as fuck. A minstrel doll. WHY WOULD ANYONE WANT THIS IN THEIR HOME?!
We had to have spend a good hour or two down there. The perfect way to round off the day.
After melting in the intense heat in The Dinosaur Place we dragged our sorry asses across the parking lot to check out the little shops. And let me tell you – that must be where a lot of the adults go because it was still dinosaur themed but it was air conditioned and FULL of cool stuff. Obviously, there was a rock and crystal shop that was full to the brim with fossils and all manner of shiny things. They even had these gorgeous bonsai trees whose leaves were actually artfully arranged geodes. And for those of us with insanely deep pockets and a good deal of eccentricity you could buy entire dinosaur skeletons here. The triceratops was a cool $99,900. Little out of my price range… but there was also smaller fossils too, the usual assortment of fish and shells and whatnot. This included the first specimens of Madagascan trilobites I have seen in person which made me geek out for just a bit.
Almost as fun was the bead shop which… seems like a dangerous place to be if you make jewelry…luckily this is one of probably three craft related hobbies I have yet to pick up. Otherwise, I could have walked out of there with $800 of beads EASY. Seriously. There was every kind of bead you could ever want. Single beads, bulk beads, glass beads, ceramic beads, beads of every color shape and size. It was a bit dazzling.
And of course, there was a shop full of fairy themes bric-a-bracs because that just seems to fit. But the best part of all of them? THE AIR CONDITIONING. Oh my God, the sweet bliss of walking into a fridge after being steam baked by the rising humidity in the parking lot!
By now we were running out of ideas of places to go and were hankering for something a little different. That’s the thing about travelling, at first you’re happy with anything and everything but eventually you get jaded and the desire for novelty sets in hard. This time around we decided to check out a lavender farm. Why? Mostly because we’d never been. So, we packed up the cat in her protective bag so we could stroll through this beautiful setting with her.
It was a gorgeous (if not oppressively hot and humid) day and finding the farm was somewhat tricky. We went from full civilization, to a very house filled neighborhood, to a couple one lane dirt roads (driveways?) with arrows pointing the way. Before we knew it we were in the woods. It was crazy. We drove up and there was an adorable little gift store, signs to be careful of dogs while parking, and there was a little path to the lavender field. We took that first and before we knew it we were standing in front of the most whimsical and charming little fairy castle which looked over the whole field. We’d missed it blooming this year but it still smelled very much of lavender. Normally lavender gives me migraines but on this particular day I had come prepared as I already had a migraine before arriving! You might think this would have made for a miserable experience, but I’ve had so many of these damn things in the past few years I was determined not to waste another day sitting on my ass waiting for it to pass and this delightful fairy friendly farm was soooo wonderful. It was worth the drive where I came *this* close to pulling over and puking in the breakdown lane three times. SIGH. (I have learned my lesson – I did push myself too far this time.)
Better still there was a path you could walk down that led us deeper into the woods which just got more whimsical looking the more we walked with trees covered in lichen and arching across the path. I was so incredibly at peace here. And the cat was too. She was sprawled out in her bag purring up a storm and allowing herself to be carried place to place like a tiny furry queen. There were even birds to watch as mourning doves were everywhere making their haunting little calls. My companion thought they were owls at first (because of the noises they were making.)
We stopped in at the gift shop before we left. There was lavender everything there – from the expected soaps to lavender maple syrup?? Odd but interesting! A teenage boy ran the counter and seemed very happy to be there. I bought a book of other plant nurseries and gardens throughout New England figuring it’d give us something else to check out.
This was a very small place that didn’t take us long at all to explore but if you happen to be in the area I definitely recommend checking it out. It’s a slice of a fairy tale. Absolutely stunning.
It’d been a long day doing random things around Wilton. First it was failing to hike a trail that was blocked off, then it was visiting a nearby cemetery, then it was getting lost trying to find tiny free libraries and having a lively discussion with a vibrant hippie woman and now… now I was in the center of the town at their absolutely tiny but truly adorable park after having deposited a book in their little free library.
Since I was here anyway I might as well look around. There seemed to be two antique stores, a chocolatier, and a cupcake shop. Today was not really the day for sweets but why not look at the antique stores? My mother peered into the Winding River Antiques window which looked super dark.
“I don’t know if they’re open.”
Someone inside waved her in. See, if you’re going to be all creepy about it you’re going to gain someone’s attention. So we walked in. It was a small antique shop, the sort of thing you’d expect on a main street of a small town. Everything was well organized and displayed. But the two shop keeps… oooh boooy. They were throwing off some fiercely negative vibes. I think they had regretted letting us in. My mother with her doddering social inequities and myself with blazing orange hair drenched in sweat from the heat and looking like death had rolled over. The orange hair throws people. In small towns like this it causes a lot of people, and let’s be honest a lot of old men people, to instantaneously distrust and hate me. It’s fine. I find this sort of hilarious because I am the least likely person to cause an actual fuss.
Still they both watched us until my skin started burning from the searing eye contact. I took a few photos and they acted like I was trying to case the place. When my mother took a few photos herself that was apparently the straw that broke the camel’s back because one growled at her to stop taking photos. Like OK dude, was just trying to give you some exposure but if you don’t want that it’s fine by me. I’ll be just as happy to write up how ungrateful you are for customers…
And so we shuffled out without buying (or stealing!) anything. (Not to be bitchy but there wasn’t anything there worth stealing in the first place. It was all very common fare.) My mother was so put off by this experience that we didn’t go into the other antique store which I presume was probably a lot friendlier.
So I was in Wilton today to revisit the Vale Cemetery but also to check out their many little free libraries that live there. I had decided these would be great receptacles to get my name out there if I donated my own books to them. It was one of those days though – one little library was defunct and the second one I couldn’t find. And somehow as I got lost I ended up behind an old wool mill. There were signs everywhere for “artists” and I… wanted to fall down this rabbit hole to see what it was.
As it turns out there’s a little community of artists and practitioners over there. There’s artist studios, massage parlours, tarot readings. Somehow, I had found the hippies in this town. I knew it. I knew they had to be somewhere providing a delightful counter to the tightwads who made the cemetery so… rule bound and uniform. And were they ever!
I walked in and immediately noticed a few cases full of miniatures. I don’t know what it is about miniatures but the well-done ones can really suck you in. And these were definitely that quality. There was also a few racks of gorgeous hand sewn hippie dresses, a display of glittery resin planchettes and mini spirit boards, and a table full of postcards and of course a rock shop vendor that was the only one I could see that was peopled. The woman at the counter was hilarious. She told us this was her last day until September as she was taking her goods on the road before “spooky season” hit. She lamented she was trying her damdest not to have a “real job” and doing every gig she could find vending but that she had learned her lesson that “some gigs are just not for me.” She described for twenty minutes one such event which was laden with country music that “compared women to trucks.” She just had stories to tell about drunk frat boys, terribly formulaic country music, and Christian fundamentalists who probably thought she was peddling Satan’s goods. And she did have some really nice new agey rocks. Pendants, spheres, polished rocks, natural rocks… and one that looked like a bowl of marbles. OBVIOUSLY I had to come home with the orange marble. And an orange fidget rock. But I left the orange pendent and a much bigger orange rock behind for next time. Most people are attracted to shiny things. I am attracted to orange things. Every. Damn. Time.
While talking to this delightful woman she told us there was actually a lot more here. There were three floors to check out as well as more studios on this floor. She pointed at the miniatures and joked, “I HAVE to show everyone the cat poop. It’s super realistic, absolutely perfect tiny little spiral of cat poop in a perfect little cat box. She does amazing work. Intricate tiny lace with such details! But I can’t get over the cat poop.”
ANYWAY. I did move on and met another lovely artist in a studio full of paintings and little scrap book type things. She’d just moved here from the south and was starting to offer classes on how to make different things. She shared the space with someone else who had some terrific Americana tattoo flash on the wall which I was again very attracted to. It was interesting.
The only other studio open was a jewelry maker at the end who’d been there the longest but I didn’t go in. It just seemed socially odd to wander in (there was a doorbell.) The three floors above… no one was in today. So I got some great exercise and took a photo of their gorgeously utilitarian spiral staircase but that was it for that…
This was a fun distraction. I really enjoyed it but I think you have pretty offbeat to find this sort of adventure worth finding this place. It’s… unique. Perfect for the eccentric.
