Day 300/365 Knoxville Table and Chair Company

This last weekend's estate sales yielded this mystery desk. My daughter and I saw it at the same time, and she fell in love with it, so it joined the household.

The company label inside the drawer is clear and intact: Knoxville Table and Chair Company, Knoxville, Tenn.

It's proving to be somewhat of a mystery though so I thought I'd ask my gentle readers if they are familiar with this company. The desk itself is heavy and solid, comes with a bookshelf on each end and a center foot rest . There's a single drawer, with heavy Mission style drop pulls.

The base finish is the usual heavy black shellac over mahogany.

The top surface is uncharacteristically left natural.

The only information I've been able to find about the Knoxville Table Company is that it operated in downtown Knoxville Tennessee from 1900-1935. One vintage Michigan Artisan catalog from September 1905 mentions that Mr. F.L. Hood, traveling sales representative of the Knoxville Table Company, spent the month of September in Chicago due to the yellow fever quarantine prevailing in a large part of his territory. Two other furniture companies are quoted as saying business was down in both Mississippi and Louisiana because of the yellow fever quarantines.

That's it. That all the power of the internet can find on this company. Usually there are the elusive vintage ads, or if I'm lucky, the vintage furniture catalog. This time, nada.

Once I solve this mystery, I'll start on what those two keys unlock.

Day 299/365 Miss Joyce

Although both sides of my family are Southern, and Virginian, they are not specifically from this particular Virginia county. When we moved here, just shy of 15 years ago, it became quickly apparent that we were forever doomed to be outsiders as far as the local populace was concerned.

It didn't help that we were not interested in accepting any one of a dozen invitations to join a church, that we were yellow-dog Democrats, and, most importantly to my daughter, that she wore overalls and Buzz Light Year shoes (because as the local kids told her Buzz shoes were boys shoes. Only boys could go "to infinity and beyond").

So in an effort to fit in, and find some sort of niche for our family, I went to the one place I understood: the local library. Specifically, the children's story hour where I was hoping my daughter would feel comfortable.

It worked.

This wonderful, wonderful woman named Miss Joyce was the children's librarian. She was all the things a librarian should be, namely, absolutely devoted to the incredible experience of reading, and determined to share a love of books with every single child she met. She loved books more than anyone else I've ever met, including myself. And I am a fanatical lover of literature.

During the first story hour we attended, my 6 year old daughter was recognized as being "new" and Miss Joyce made a point of being particularily warm and welcoming to her. It made all the difference in the world to a little girl in a strange place that appeared to be beyond infinity.

Miss Joyce never had children of her own, but instead regarded every one of the thousands of children that came to story hour as her own. Amazingly, she remembered every one of them by name (I have seen this tested by various children), including my daughter. In the years since, we have collected odd household items for Miss Joyce to use for the summer children's crafts program (moms you know the list: popsicle sticks, toilet paper rolls, sequins, pom poms, glitter ....there's no such thing as too much glitter).

Our paths crossed again when a huge grey cat started spending the day at our house. We later found out that Miss Joyce had moved in three doors down, and the big gray cat belonged to her. Boswell (Boss for short) commandeered the neighborhood in short order, and several weeks ago actually ran off a groundhog that had taken up residence in my neighbor's crawl space.

Boss did not tell us at that time that he was dealing with his own loss: Miss Joyce had passed away suddenly. We had wondered why we hadn't seen her at the library for a couple weeks, but hadn't thought to ask. It never occurred to us that we may have lost her.

From one lover of reading to another, Miss Joyce you will be sorely missed in this community. You touched thousands of children over the last 31 years, not the least of which was my little girl in her Buzz shoes and overalls.

Every one of those children will keep your memory alive for years.

Thank you.

Day 298/365 A Place For Everything....

I've been going to estate sales since I was 14 years old. Over the years, the sales themselves tend to exhibit generational tendencies. When I was 14, the sales were from people who came of age in the 1920s and 1930s -my grandparents generation. The lifelong accumulation of "stuff" tended to fit into economic groups - you could tell who had been hit hard by the Depression, and who had managed to survive or, occasionally, done really well.

Present day sales are at the end of the World War II generation. I can tell their homes a mile away - the little houses, bought by returning GI's who served at Normandy, or in the South Pacific. They survived the war, came home, married the girl they left behind, and all they wanted was a safe haven - a little home to call their own, where they could have 2.5 kids and a good home cooked meal at night. These homes invariably have some sort of workshop in the basement (because this is the generation that grew up in the Depression and fixes before they throw away).

This week's sale fit this description perfectly. The workshop filled approximately a 10 x 15' corner of the basement, with the usual wall of neatly hung saws and extension cords.


After that, this basement workshop entered the realm of fantasy and legend. Hundreds of bungee cords, arranged by length.


Several wooden bins built and carefully labeled, in excruciating detail (not just tool handles, but "small" asst sizes, in wood,plastic and steel)

Excruciating detail (curved pieces of metal and steel)

A bin for every kind and size of nail you can imagine, and some I've never heard of.

Walls of neatly labeled tins (I'm thinking these were lard tins originally-the wife must have cooked a lot of fried chicken). All of these bins were full.

And stacks of bins with little plastic drawers - all labeled and clearly separated.

More bins stuck up next to the ceiling (right next to the wood scraps, stacked and labeled on the ends with their length)

Another wall of bins...

And more bins (not just labeled, but the categorization even extends to the color coding).

And the piece de resistance....first each metal bin is labeled, within their individual metal drawer...

Then the exterior of each metal drawer is labeled....

And then each row of metal drawers (approximately 200 total in this unit) was labeled. This complete unit was priced at $200, included all contents, but the buyer had to disassemble
it from the brick chimney and ceiling joist, then remove it themselves. The liquidators couldn't figure out quite how to do it.

They don't make guys like this anymore. And these guys were the reason we won the war.

Day 297/365 Spirit of the Forest

If you have the money to spare (and the room for storage), this is the time to be buying antiques and vintage furniture. Unfortunately everyone seems to know this, and it makes life harder for dealers (like moi) to find quality items. This weekend yielded *one* small item worth purchasing.

A small carved table...previous owner stripped it but it's nice and sturdy, and covered in carvings.

The Green Man appears on each side. He's the Celtic or Pagan Spirit of the Forest.

Being of Scottish descent, and more than a little Pagan myself, this little table may never make it to the booth. It's not often the ancestors speak directly to us.

Day 296/365 Table Redux

Slim pickings today, but this mahogany table did come home with us. At first glance it's considered a Duncan Phyfe style 1920's reproduction.

Duncan Phyfe (originally spelled Fife) was born in Loch Fannich, Scotland in 1768 but emigrated to the newly established United States of America in 1784, at the age of 16. He apprenticed with a cabinetmaker, and eventually became one of the most reputable furniture makers in America, producing furniture in all the popular styles of the day, including Federal, Neo-Classic, Empire, Regency and Rococo Revival.

The one style he *didn't* produce was Duncan Phyfe, since every element that is now considering an identifying element of his furniture, was, in fact, already popular long before he began building furniture.

Splayed ribbed legs? Yep. Already popular in a variety of styles. Very familiar to the American colonies.

Brass paw feet? So common that their absence would have been remarkable.

Drop leafs? Done to death. Mahogany? The pine of its time.


So Duncan Phyfe himself would have no idea what we meant when we say something is "Duncan Phyfe" style. A piece of furniture actually made by him in the early 1800's would have a paper label attached, clearly labeled Duncan Phyfe. However, one hundred years and twenty years later, Duncan Phyfe reproductions would actually eclipse the original furniture maker, and become a "style" all its own.

And so we have this mahogany Duncan Phyfe repro dining room table that followed us home today. Worn spots, water marks, deep scratches, and what I think may actually be traces of grey paint in a few spots.

Once I fell for the misguided random thought of "I-can-take-it-home-and-strip-and-refinish-it...It'll-be-a-project". Now I know that this will never actually happen. The projects will simply pile up and overwhelm me. So I need magic fixes and quick solutions.

Like Old English. This time I'll use the Dark Wood liquid, but it comes in Light Wood and Lemon Oil as well.

It's magic. Grey paint disolves, scratches disappear, the wood actually glows and grime that has accumulated over the years is removed. Total time: 15 minutes.

Duncan would have killed for it. Or maybe he invented it. Yeah, that's probably what happened.

Day 295/365 Things My Daughter Finds for Me at Target...

Remember when your kids were little and they'd bring you grimy handfuls of dandelions and it'd be all like a Hallmark moment?

Yeah, me too.

Day 294/365 Bamboozled

Pickings were scarce at today's estate sale but we did find this late 1890's bamboo and wicker sewing table.

You can see the bamboo ribs in the legs, with slightly bulbed feet and a gradual outward splay in each leg.

The second shelf is wicker set inside a wooden frame.

Best of all, the wooden top is hinged along one side to allow the top to lift up.

A divided wooden tray sit inside, waiting for thread, needles, buttons and other sewing sundries.

The wooden tray sits on two wooden rails, leaving a large open compartment underneath -meant for scissors, patterns, extra fabric, cut quilt blocks or other larger sewing supplies.

All I need to do is clean it up, decide whether or not to paint it (the brown isn't original), and then migrate it over to the booth.

Day 293/365 Hope Closet

Living in a house built in 1858, (by people who apparently only owned 2 sets of clothing) means that over the last 153 years, our existing closets were carved out of larger rooms. Electricity wasn't part of the consideration. Well, except for that overhead light that keeps breaking because someone yanks on the chain too hard. The one I quit replacing after one too many yanks.

So when I needed to clean out the closet (having promised to send my Minnesota sweaters up to my cousin in the mountains) the first thing I had to do was round up extension cords, power bars and lamps.

Due to the lack of electricity (energy,motivation, whatever) it's been a few years since the closet was cleaned out. I actually found jackets that still have shoulder pads. And a strange blazer-sort-of-thing I have no memory of ever buying (and a window).

More quilts, more afghans, more comforters and two burgundy pillows that look like they came out of the Arabian Nights.

Best find of the day: the baby quilts I made for my daughter. They fit perfectly in that big drawer at the bottom of the new armoire.

And the satin crazy quilt my great-aunt Sadie made. This would be the same one I took to the hospital with me the night my daughter was born.

And her first (and only) cut (measuring about 10" long) - covered in patches - her dad was driving truck then, and she had to have Mickey and Minnie ....

Apparently she was also a Marine, a member of the Beatles, owned an eagle, and was a Danish/UK/Scot. Learning to spell and sit up would come later. Priorities are important.

Also found the cat under all those afghans. He was *not* wearing his cut.

Day 289/365 Feline Fuhrer

Sometimes at an estate sale, you find things that you never knew or imagine exist.

And you just can't pass them up.

Like this vintage (1950's?) photo.

Someone loved this kitty enough to take a portrait, blow it up to 8x10, frame it and then keep it for approximately 60 years.

I can't decide if his name was Adolf or Charlie.

Or if he goose-stepped with one paw raised, or toddled along in a bowler hat twirling his cane.

Or maybe he wiggled his eyebrows, chewed on his cigar, and hung out with Harpo and Chico.

Yes, I bought him. No, I have no idea why. Everyone needs an 8x10 of the Fuhrer, don't they?

Day 288/365 Eight Small Men

Being from Appalachia means having quilting women in your family. That means having large amounts of quilts on hand, made by Mama, Grandma, Aunt Sadie, Great-Grandma, and in this case, myself.

When living in Minnesota, this is a good thing, since it's nothing to have five quilts on the bed at one time. However, relocating to Virginia means *not* having even one quilt on the bed for nine months out of the year.

So where do you put them?

You put them here....

Because sometimes the best places come in pieces and have to be taken apart and reassembled...




Hooks, shelves and sides need removing....

The mahogany base needs cleaning...

Lion feet need polishing ( they hide wooden caster rollers)...

Skeleton keys must be fished out of the bombay drawer...

Top cap and beveled full-length mirror are removed for transport...

And whatever you do, don't lose the pegs... because the entire piece is pegged together (quality craftsmanship from 1890).

Once it's home, reassembly starts upstairs. First the base with the lion feet, casters, and drawer. Then the back and first side are pegged in and attaching screws replaced.

Then the third side...

And finally the top cap is lifted onto its pegs...the mirror door rehung...

And it's ready for...

All of this...


Which just barely fits, and it appears I already need another armoire*.

*Armoire....a freestanding closet, originating in the castles of the wealthy in Europe...one of the first exported products from America to England, due to plentiful wood in the Colonies..originally a decent sized armoire was based on the 'eight small men' system (in other words, a decent sized armoire would be able to hold eight small men. ) This system was probably invented by the lady of the castle.