This is the week to search for treasure

One person’s trash is another person’s treasure. That statement is never more true than it is in August in Portland, Indiana.
The first omen of what is to come is when the naked ladies come to town. No, not unclothed humans. Naked ladies is just one name for those pink flowers seen in almost every yard. They also go by the names of naked lilies, magic lilies, surprise lilies, resurrection lilies, pop-up lilies or simply those tall pink flowers. The plants with the botanical name Lycoris squamigera spring up seemingly out of nowhere and are quickly followed by garage sale signs on almost every telephone pole.
Golf carts soon fill the streets and stop or turn seemingly at random in search of treasure. It seems like everyone in town has something to offer to those looking for a bargain.
All of this starts way before the tractor show’s first day of business. The official excuse for the town-wide party is the annual Tri-State Antique Engine and Tractor Show. Never in my life could I have imagined that so many people would be so interested in other people’s junk. Never have I been so wrong.
Thousands of people descend upon Portland each year, including my brothers. One brother is in search of antique cigarette lighters. Why? I have no idea. The other brother can see a shining orange tractor where I see a heap of rust. It sings a siren song, “Buy me, only you can make me pretty. Don’t show me to your sister.”
A sister-in-law is tickled pink when she finds Dale Earnhardt memorabilia. I relent and buy a vase for a quarter. The last thing I need is another vase, but it is pretty, heavy and most importantly, only costs a quarter.
Every garage or yard sale holds a treasure for somebody. Every display, every table full of junk is also a table full of memories, memories both for the current owner who is hoping to get rid of something and memories waiting to be made by the future owner who is hoping for a bargain.
On the rare occasions when I have walked through the endless rows of tractors with my brothers we have relived bits of our childhoods. A hay hook brought back unpleasant times. A wringer washer reminded us of when one brother got his arm caught in the wringer. A pedal car evoked pleasant times. Pieces of our past were found in the dusty boxes.
I wonder if that is what people see in the old tractors and antiques. Do they see themselves when they were young and strong? Are they like my brother Michael and do they see a shiny new tractor instead of a pile of rusty metal? Do they hear a smoothly running engine instead of a sputtering, temperamental heap?
Is the memory of what used to be the real treasure? Or perhaps it is the joy at getting something for an unreasonably cheap price? Whatever the reason, there are deals to be had this week.
One person’s trash is another’s person’s treasure. The town is full of treasure this week. You just have to find it.