But I finally realized yesterday that what keeps me going back — it's a long drive, the weather is often unpredictable, an ever-increasing percentage of the merch is pure junk — is Brimfield's Surrealism quotient. I love the silly spectacles and strange juxtapositions that many dealers create for their booths, deliberately or not.
Click to enlarge any photo and see all the gory (or Gorey) details...
One of the first things I spotted after we'd parked the car was this tall stuffed ostrich with striped wooden legs and sneakers. It had a patient expression and some kind of ancient pot hanging around its neck. You can also see veteran Brimfielders with their wheeled carts, backpacks, sneakers, and sun hats. (I wear a Red Sox cap and carry a rucksack myself.)
These two figurines appeared to have formed a special bond. How could you take one without the other? (On the other hand, how could you take either?)
There are always dolls, like this disconsolate Eskimo:
And this one, with shrunken hands:
There's a bear in this birdbath:
Mannequins in uniform caps:
I'm not sure how you'd be able to choose from the assorted glittering heads below. You'd have to take them all:
Many people were taken aback by these china-headed clock people, as we were:
Then we saw that the same dealer/artist had made dozens of assemblages from old tins and funnels, etc.:
I felt bad for this "Antique Warrior," but at least his arm was conveniently nearby. Like the knights in Monty Python, he looked determined to keep selling even if he lost his other arm, both legs, and his head:
The sign on this car reads, "Female Navigator Wanted to Tour New England this Summer." That lady in the floppy hat looks interested:
After several hours and five miles of wandering in dusty fields, I envied this fish: