We are riding through the hill country along the Georgia/Alabama line. It’s hot enough to melt tire rubber. The AC is blowing artic air past my ear lobes.

Our destination? DeSoto Falls State Park.

Our mission? To stop at every yard sale we see for the next four days to buy stuff.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re wondering if we’ve lost our minds.

“Their biscuits are half-baked,” you’re saying to yourself.

Who goes digging through other people’s stuff for four days? How many yard sales can there be, anyway?

Let me preach on it!

First of all, I am a firm believer in the possibility of one man’s junk being the perfect treasure for another man’s chest. There is an addictive rush that comes while treasure hunting.

Secondly, we did not just drive 2 1/2 hours to take a pot shot at finding just any yard sale. We are here for the annual World’s Longest Yard Sale.

The first weekend of every August is the holy mecca of front yard card tables and tents. The fun begins in Gadsden, Alabama and if you were so inclined you could shop all the way to Addison, Michigan.

The first time I ever sent Marion a text, right when we first met, she was here digging and treasure hunting through north Alabama. WLYS 2023.

This year, she invited me to come along.

I’ve seen second Saturdays on the square. I’ve been to the big flea market over in Smith Station. I’ve done the huge warehouse junk stores.

None of that even holds a candle to this.

We got the camper set up, and by early afternoon we headed south on State Route 89. Every quarter mile there were tents, and tables, and trailers full of junk.  Vehicles were parked on the grass road shoulder in long solitary lines.

“What about that one?” I ask.

“Looks like just clothes,” Marion says. “Keep going.”

If you pass ten vendors, don’t worry, because there’s 30 more around the next curve.

I’m not kidding.

Some places are honest to goodness homeowner yard sales. Dishes. Ottomans. Grandma’s clock. The ex-husband’s golf clubs.

I did see a few that looked like the guys who buy up cheap overstock crapola. They are an insult to the intelligence of the seasoned treasure hunter.

The best spots are run by the professional yard sale guys. They travel hundreds of miles and work only the best venues. The World’s Longest Yard Sale attracts the best from all over.

Meet Ben. Ben is from Harris County, Georgia where I live. He’s been working the WLYS for over 15 years. I buy a Co-Cola bottle opener off him for a buck.

Now I need to buy bottled Coke when I get home.

We drove down the road a piece. Marion gets to talking to Marty while I listen to Earnest play me a tune on his fiddle. These two guys have had the same spot along this stretch of highway for the last 26 years.

Everybody we meet is top notch. Every stop we make we find something.

A quilt. An old wooden handle. Two wooden block pulleys. An off-set 1/2″ wrench. Post office box doors. Spoons. A weight for my grandpa’s old cotton scale. A block plane. An empty can of Sir Walter Raleigh tobacco.

Each piece has a purpose. Each one stirs a memory.

I have a line I use when the vender asks me what I’m looking for. I may have stolen it. I don’t think I did, but it suits me well.

“I’m looking for stuff I don’t know I need. “

And that’s the thrill. You pull over. You walk the tables. You dig through the buckets. Your hands get dirty.

But then, there it is. The thing that catches your eye. You pick it up. You put it down. You pick it up again.

Marion says, “Hey! It’s just a dollar.”

I scowl at how cheap I am sometimes.

And all this took place in just a few hours on the first day.

Tomorrow we go sale-ing again.