The Freakin Firkin

Since my choices for television have been re-opened to me, I have found myself falling back into some of my old favorites, specifically, "American Pickers" and "Pawn Stars." I love these shows not just for their "reality" moments, but because they endear me to a small interest I have always held- antiques.

I haven't had many personal experiences when it comes to purchasing antiques, but my parents have. I seem to recall years back while on a family vacation to Maine when I actually saw my first real antique, courtesy of my mother.

My family and several of my mother's sisters and their families all went up to Maine for a week or two in the summer. One day my mom came back to our shared beach house after enjoying a nice afternoon with my aunts, and she carried something big, round, and wooden in her hands.

"What is that?", we all asked.

My mother, with a pleased smile on her face, replied, "It's a firkin!"

Of course, none of us had any idea what a firkin was, but my mom seemed very happy about it. She infomed us that she and her sisters had gone to an estate sale or auction, and had bought this odd heavy wooden bucket-thing. I still didn't understand what exactly it was and since it didn't really have anything to do with my oh-so important life, I shrugged it off and walked away.

My curiosity was still piqued, however, so when we actually got back to our real house I found myself looking it over again. I was able to make out some kind of painted floral and leaf pattern on the front and thought it did look pretty, especially set against the dark brown wood. Ok, so it looked nice, but what the hell was it for?

My mother tried to explain that in the old days it was basically just a utility bucket used in kitchens or around the house- which is exactly what it ended up doing for us. It helped us around the house by first being the deposit spot for firewood. However, as we were very loudly vocally reminded by my mom that it was an ANTIQUE now, and therefore retired from such hard labor, it spent its remaining days sitting on our stair steps collecting old magazines and toys. It was like setting up a assisted-living village in Sesame Place- not a very dignified end to such a magnificent piece.

We always remembered the "freakin firkin", as my father lovingly coined it whenever my mom hassled him about taking care of it. It might have seemed silly at the time, but my mom introduced me to the idea of obtaining a piece of history; of being able to place your hands on something that was once in the hands of someone from long ago. I always appreciated that, and still do.

As to the current whereabouts of the firkin today...I have no freakin idea.