Labor Day weekend may be about celebrating the American worker, but in my part of the world it’s about the Sparks Flea Market.
Sparks Kansas.
Yep, it’s in the middle of nowhere.
Last year we took Will and he thought it was all kinds of fun. This year we took Maggie and Nate. Prior to leaving, Nate told the siblings, “Kids, this is your mother’s Super Bowl, now don’t do anything to spoil it.”
Yeah kids, don’t make me get out a can of whoop-ass.
The siblings got along. They bought stuff, they survived ridiculously hot temps, they ate corn dogs and sat in a tub that a farm boy cut in half and made into a loveseat.
The Farm Boy is not married. He’s never even dated which led to some awkward silence on our part. If I knew a guy who was that talented I’d snap him up in a heartbeat, but I didn’t say that out loud as you never know the sketchiness of the kind of guy who would tell complete strangers that he’s never dated.
We came home with an old trellis, a rusty blue tool box, a green oar, a bowling pin, birdhouse, some locker baskets and a shelf made from an old piece of luggage.
And just before we left, we ran back to buy one more thing from the farm boy. That’s when we discovered that he may have some issues with gas.
