A Scavenger’s Ramble

Scavengers get a bad rap. For whatever reason, we think of sharks, hyenas and vultures as scummy opportunistic bottom-dwellers who eat off others’ work, who can’t do their own dirty jobs. Hmm.
Such were my thoughts when on Tuesday I struck out on a drive to Fuquay Varina (pronounced FEWw-Kway Vah-REE-Na) to pick up some items I had scoped out on Craig’s List. I am an avid Freecycler and Craig’s Lister, looking for the castaways from other parents and commute-cyclists (the latter for Mike more than myself now). Scavenging is a noble act, cleaning up the waste and saving landfill space. Not that hyenas think much about their ecological role. The added advantage with internet scavenging is that you meet people.
As it turned out, the weather report was off (which is a daily occurrence here) and the weather was gorgeous. It re-started me on a project to photograph my chance encounters with beautiful old barns, of which there are many in Carolina, weathered to an amber hue. In California I can count three real old barns I saw regularly, standing mournfully in abandoned fields. Mike told me once that many had been scavenged for their old-growth redwood boards, which is great re-use, though a bit sad. At the end of the drive was a five-time grandpa who was eager to hold Chloe, having not had a little baby to hold in a while. This is a frequent request around here from older native Carolinians.
Anyway, yesterday I got a dining seat from a family in North Raleigh, and today I bought a used “bouncy seat” from one in Durham. In these two cases, we met in a parking lot. Ominously, one was a Borders lot, the other a mall, not halfway as fun as curving around old farms reminiscing about my Spider convertible. They told me in advance what cars they had. Once we connected, I gave money, they gave their stuff and drove away. It could have looked like a drug deal, only they were minivans (because I assume dealers use something chic, like black beamers or white lexuses). On the items, you find old wear marks, a little history and baggage, ready for Biscuit to make her own mark.