The Longest Yard

When we circle back to Debbie's husband, he is deep in thought. "I'm thinking we may have some things in the house they might be interested in, something we could just throw into the deal with the sink," he says.

Debbie puts her hands on her face. "Oh, I have such a hard time parting with things, but what could we give them to get them started?" She ponders this before rushing off to stores of items unseen. She comes back with an old waffle iron. She opens it and oscillates it, like a kindergarten teacher reading a picture book to children, so that we might inspect its partially rusted metal interior. We respond with smiles and nods, as if it were lined with mother of pearl. "This is original," she says, "from the '50s."

Her husband points to the back of the appliance and says, "You get a new plug and it'll work just fine." I'm genuinely touched by the gesture, but I protest the two-for-five-dollars deal.

"No, we insist," Debbie says, putting her hands out, palms open. Debbie's father, a taut man with tattoos and a voice as gravelly as the ground on which we stand, walks by during the exchange, and Debbie shouts, "Hey, Dad, these young people get excited about old things."

He looks at me standing there, cradling the waffle iron like a baby, and he says, "If they're excited about that, there's something wrong with them." After profuse thank yous, Matt and I jump back into the truck.

"Drive safe," Debbie says.

"Good luck," her husband offers.

"Be sure you get down the road a ways before you throw that waffle iron out the window, so there aren't any hurt feelings," Debbie's father calls out.

Established in 1987 by Mike Walker of Jamestown, Tenn., the World's Longest Yard Sale runs through Kentucky, Tennessee, Georgia and Alabama, mostly along the rural corridor of U.S. Highway 127. Taking part in the sale is as easy as showing up; no registration is required. There is no way to know exactly how many people visit or how many people set up shop on the shoulder of U.S. 127. The event, founded as a way to revitalize Jamestown's local economy, has become a road trip for seekers of all kinds.

Back roads are not the most efficient way to get from Point A to Point B, and yard sales are not the easiest places to shop. But that's the charm of an event that seems to embody an "it's the journey not the destination" philosophy. Before Walker started the sale, few travelers ever wandered through Jamestown, preferring to travel the faster main thoroughfares instead. Now thousands arrive every summer as they leisurely move down the yard sale path. In addition to buying goods from various vendors, yard sale travelers boost local economies along the route by staying in campgrounds, hotels and motels, and by eating at the mom and pop restaurants that still line sections of the back road.

I'm open to becoming the proud new owner of a few odd items that cross our path as we meander this trail of treasures ourselves, but what I'm really looking for is the unique slice of Americana served at the open-air markets I visited while growing up in the foothills of North Carolina. My farmer grandparents took me to flea markets and yard sales whenever I stayed the weekend with them. I can still remember the rough-hewn tables, red clay creeping up their wooden legs after a heavy rain. There was almost always a steady stream of country music coming from transistor radios, and a contingent of sellers whiling away the day with instruments in hand.

Every outdoor marketplace has its own flavor, its own melange of items that range from knickknacks to treasured antiques. Even where most of the wares are worn, there is the sense that a valuable treasure might be unearthed at any moment. These locales are united by the steady sound of chatter, the energy of a marketplace where the price is almost always negotiable, where everything comes with a history and has the potential to find a new purpose. Sometimes, living in a world of sterile shopping centers and mega-marts, I get homesick for that kind of place.