Meet the Knick-Knack Nook

Whenever friends come to visit me on Bowen Island, I say, "We have to go to the Nook."

Rarely does a thrift store merit a sightseeing trip, but the Nook is one of the Seven Wonders of Bowen Island. The Nook is adjacent to the recycle depot, another Wonder where one can snag free goodies: Cat Stevens cassettes for one's old Volvo, a toaster oven, or "Anne of Green Gables". On Sundays we take our recycling to the depot after church, then visit the Knick-Knack Nook.

The Nook is a humble prefab building, like half a barrel turned on its side. This unassuming shack contains more wonder than Smaug's glittering lair. I could detail many a fortunate find: my music collection beefed up with cheapo CDs I'd never spend real money on, a bag o' clothespins for the student house, decorations for St. Patrick's Day, and my cabin furnished with all the veritable knick-knacks a girl could desire. I wouldn't be surprised to find an Arkenstone for fifty cents.

Today at the Nook, my Iowan friend Nathan was agog at the merch. "How do people on Bowen not want this stuff? It'd be snapped up in Iowa," he said, tenderly examining a piece of pottery which might have been a hookah, an oil jar, or a vase. This he deemed "actually nice decoration, not 1970s grandma stuff not even cool enough to be vintage."

I snatched up a linen tablecloth and a coral merino sweater -- $2 and $3 respectively. Victoria has thrift stores aplenty, but I can hardly stomach the prices post-Nook life. (The above photo shows the aforementioned items as well as candlesticks and a pottery vase I Nooked myself.)

It's Calling Me...

Often when I roam thrift store aisles, a specific item will catch my eye and seem to beckon me. I'll give it a cursory look, maybe a fleeting smile, and possibly even stop and pick it up. If I'm hooked by then, I walk away, think about it - really think about it - and then either buy my find or leave it for someone else to enjoy. 

That happened today. This funky pressed glass cookie jar, I knew, would look great brim-full with homemade chocolate chip cookies. A cookie treasure trove! Yep, this is the kind of jar a hand - small or big - will fit into nicely, time after time. And so I gave in...

Only sorry you can't be here to join us!

My thriftstore journey : from hate to love

The author of the previous article is my dad, so I was born with the thrifting gene. Although now thoroughly addicted to thriftstoring, during my childhood years thriftstores were simply a necessity in order to have a family of eight clothed and happy. My only fond memories from those second hand days, are the "free box"- full of  mostly McDonald's happy meal toys kids were allowed to take one of - and crawling around on the perpetually dusty floor and making a "fort" under a clothing rack, with pillows and any other things of interest. There I'd hide out until the call to go home, when I'd scatter my treasures and depart. As time passed and more and more of my siblings left, the luxury of new clothes became the normal and I saw no reason to buy someone's old clothes by choice. The mall was my favorite place to hang out with my friends, most of whom had never even been to a thriftstore. My dad still wanted to shop second hand, but I wasn't very enthusiastic about it. I remember very clearly when my view on the subject changed, though. A friend of a friend was wearing a very comfy looking sweater, I asked her where she got it from and without shame she said, "the thriftstore". It had never crossed my mind to be anything but embarrassed about wearing a strangers clothes, but her response made me think twice. That same day a begged my mom to take me to the nearest Salvation Army where I found a beautiful sweater. Now began the time of sweaters, where me and my sister would run through the doors and race to the sweater section without even glancing at the other racks of clothing. My dad was now the one being dragged to the thriftstore! Slowly we realized the other deals to be found throughout the store and it became a place of wonder where we would go as often as possible. I am now proud to be a thriftstorer, because it shows my ability to find fashionable things in a pile of mostly horrible clothes. Instead of shopping where everyone else does, I stand out in my "vintage" clothes. I'm able to buy more clothes than I ever could shopping at a mall. I've even had a few friends say,"Take me to the thriftstore and help me find stuff!". Because of these reasons, I no longer look down and mumble when someone asks me where I got something. I say with confidence and a smile, "the thriftstore!"

Not-Forgotten Dreams

As a little guy, I dreamed of unearthing rotten, doubloon-filled pirate chests or ancient jungle ruins teeming with disremembered riches. I’d even make maps, complete with burnt edges, and urge others to find my buried treasure. No surprise that I've been searching for treasures ever since. As a university student, I discovered second-hand book stores – the kind of dimly lit, moldering shops you might expect to find in a Dickens novel – housing crooked stacks of potentially valuable books. I’d visit these stores somewhat religiously and pore through the dusty, shambolic shelves in search of great finds, such as a beautiful 19th century leather-bound copy of The Three Musketeers in French. It was then that I started collecting pre-1950 illustrated children’s Bible story books, a hobby I eventually gave up when moving these books proved too onerous. With marriage and a family, my treasure hunting at garage sales and thrift stores generally met a more practical need: making our dollars stretch. But even now, the thrill of the hunt and the expectancy of sweet deals keep me searching like that young boy who imagined unearthing long-forgotten riches. I look forward to sharing our tales of second-hand exploits together!