Tool Quest Into Amish Country

I was brought out of my tool-induced reverie into the here-and-now by an unfamiliar sign up ahead on the right. I whipped the car around in a U-turn and headed back; before me the words 'Flea Market' were painted on a wagon, while an American flag flapped nearby. Somewhere in Southeast Pennsylvania's mushroom country I had stumbled on a new (to me) flea market. I pulled in next to the wagon and got out of the car. I was intrigued and a little excited as some primitive part of my brain switched over into stalk-and-kill mode. I walked over to an open garage - nearby a pair of elderly gentleman were leaning on a stack of boxes. The one on the right looked up with interest. "Looking for anything in particular?" he asked. "Tools" I said "Woodworking tools." He squinted in a thoughtful way and led me over to a pile of cardboard boxes. "If I have any tools," he said, "They'll be in here." I dragged out the indicated boxes and commenced to look. I poked around in the jumble within those boxes and the only thing I saw that was even remotely related to woodworking was an upholsterer's tack hammer - a tool I often see at flea markets. I inquired as to the price, more to test his pricing than anything else, and he squinted at me for a few seconds while he sized me up. "Five dollars," and then, "Those upholsterer's hammers go for a lot more than that in the stores." "A little high," I think and I put it back. "Thanks" I said, "I'll think about it." He turned to greet another patron so I wandered further inside the garage. No tools, just a lot of old kitchenware, luggage, and other household items laid out on tables and stacked on shelves in the rear. "Dry hole" I thought. "Another dry hole." I found my way to the entrance of the maze and walked back to my car. He beckoned me over as I passed him and said, "Be more tools in a couple of weeks." I mentally filed that tidbit away and continued my interrupted journey.

Not much more than an hour before, I had been sitting in front of the computer and feeling a touch of melancholy. It was closing in on two PM on a Sunday afternoon in February and I was considering whether to find my book, contribute to some current thread on the OldTools email list or head on down to my shop. Truth is, I was feeling a bit housebound. I hadn't been out all weekend. Inclement weather and a touch of some sort of stomach flu had, up to that point, removed any desire to go anywhere. I stood up with sudden purpose and strode over to the coat rack. My daughter looked up as I walked past. "Going somewhere?" she asked as I pulled on my jacket. "I'm going to Amish country" I said, "I'm going to look for tools." She smiled a knowing smile and said, "Well, good luck" and then added, "Don't get lost."

Some people say that Southeastern Pennsylvania is Tool Heaven. I suppose they're right. The land has been settled since the 1600's; an untold number of smithies, cabinetmaking shops, wheelwrights, coopers, carpenters, and farm shops have come and gone, the ebb and flow of men and their works. The men are gone but their tools remain, some of them anyway, in basements, attics, barns, garages and workshops. They emerge through estate and garage sales, flea markets, auctions, and the Internet auction houses. The epicenter of the tool scene is the Lancaster area which includes the large flea markets near Adamstown and Kutztown, numerous auction sites, and antique stores that specialize in old tools. If ambitious, one can venture forth on a weekend morning, hit the big flea markets north of Lancaster at sunrise, and swing down to Lancaster and points south for afternoon shopping in the antique stores. Or, if one lives close by and is sitting there on a Sunday afternoon in February feeling melancholy and out of sorts, one can make a targeted strike into Amish country and head for a single store.

I turned onto Route 30, leaving mushroom country behind. The miles ticked by and I began to lose WHYY to static and competing stations. I turned the radio off. As I reached the outer fringes of Lancaster I passed a parking lot with five Amish buggies lined up. They started to pull out onto the highway as I passed and I pulled off the road up ahead of them to get a photo. Before they reached me, a gray buggy, followed by a young man in a white pickup, pulled up across the intersection from me. Gray buggies, I am told, denote the Amish, whereas black buggies are driven by Old Order Mennonites. I snapped a couple of shots as the buggy slowed and then continued through the intersection. The fellow in the pickup cursed me for taking the photograph as he passed. Later I read that the Amish abhor photographs, regarding them as graven images, and dislike being photographed, especially head on. Somewhat chastened, I continued on towards the intersection of Route 30 and Route 896.

I turned south on 896 and after a mile, start looking for a white store on the left by the name of the Country Loft. This was my destination. I saw the store and pulled off into the parking lot. I had no interest in the Country Loft. It only serves as a landmark for my real destination, Miller's Country Collectibles, a tool Mecca that shares a parking lot with the Country Loft. The entrance to Miller's is fairly well hidden from the highway. I got out of the car and contemplated the scene before me, a single doorway flanked by old grindstones, stepladders, barrels and such. The inner face of the door has an 'Old Gold' sign hanging sideways on it. I had been here before and I knew that the interior held a bewildering array of tools. The proprietor is a MWTCA member and has a good idea of the true value of the tools therein - there would be no dirt cheap bargains, but I knew I'd find something. There are always items of interest for the bottom-feeding user. I stepped inside. Entering Miller's is a shock to anyone who hasn't seen a lot of tools in one place. The profusion of tools is almost overwhelming. Chisels and planes to the left. Saws, braces, drawknives, and lots of other stuff ahead. I nodded to the proprietor, got permission to snap a few pictures, and headed for the tools. This is some of what I saw:

A wall of saws, many in good to excellent condition. Prices were about what I would expect on Ebay for nice saws. Many had nice logo's.

A wall of braces and other boring devices.

Drawknives, spokeshaves, hatchets, broadaxes... To my right was a box of turning tools and some gouges.

A shelf of moulding planes and block planes.

I wandered around the rest of the place like a kid in a candy store. Too many tools and not enough time. My brain began to lock up with indecision. Five o'clock, closing time, was fast approaching. Little beads of sweat began to form on my forehead. Finally, my eyes settled on a box of rules. Ordinarily, rules don't hold a lot of interest for me but there on top was a "blind man's" rule with the extra large number markings. I've always sort of admired these and thought about buying one from the woodworking catalogs. The new ones are made of maple now that boxwood is getting scarce. This one was a 'made in England' Lufkin, not an antique, but maybe 20 - 30 years old. It was made of boxwood and in excellent condition. I picked it up and went back for a new-old-stock (NOS) rat-tailed rasp, paid for my selections and stumbled out into the late afternoon light.

I walked over to my car and put the bag with my tools on the front seat. In my desire to get into the shop, I failed to notice how lovely the setting was back from the parking lot and up the hillside. I gazed at the scene for a while, took a picture, and got in the car.

I headed south on Route 896. This is Buggy Alley on Sunday afternoons. The Amish were out in force. I'm told that they worship in each others' homes and spend Sunday afternoons visiting fellow churchmembers. I drove tentatively around the many curves and slowed down coming over the crests of the hills. I passed buggy after buggy coming south, perhaps 40 in all. The buggies were mostly gray - all of them have the large orange warning triangle on the back. The interiors of the buggies were dark, the passenger's faces obscured. I wondered what it would be like to drive a buggy down a highway on a late afternoon with a steady stream of cars passing by.

A few miles south of Miller's, I turned right onto a smaller side road. Driving for a few hundred yards beyond the turn, I pulled to the side of the road and rolled down the window. The trees in February are without leaves giving the hillsides a soft gray aspect with muted greens and browns. I sat in the car and listened to the wind, an occasional car passing by on the main road, water moving - an Anabaptist dreamscape spread out before me, the horizon fading into the haze. Eventually the chill air brought me out of my trance. I rolled up the window, turned the car around and headed down 896 to home.

My take for the day - a Lufkin 'blind man's rule' and a rat-tailed rasp.

(Update - Millers Collectibles has (sob) closed!)

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Updated 1/7/2006