Nova Scotia Barn Sale

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     With a month's pension in large bills (don't tell SWMBO) stretching my wallet, and a stack of flashlights and work gloves straining the zipper of my old work bag, I joined Joe, Dwight and Jerry on the road to Amherst to visit a much anticipated barn sale of cars and parts.   The list was as extensive as it was eclectic, and I'd been wooed by a promise of "Boxes of new E-Type parts!"   With visions of new-in-the-box sets of triple SU's or 3:07 differentials, I watched impatiently for the turn off.
    Clearly, many others had been attracted, as cars were already lining the farm road along a pastoral stretch of rural Nova Scotia.  A lovely old farm house sat guard over several barns clearly bursting at the seams with LBC detritus spilling out onto the field behind.  Grabbing flashlights we dove in.
    The large barn almost moaned under the weight of a generation of car(?) stuff with even some of the larger beams sagging noticeably. Folks were digging in and gingerly prying open bonnets and boots to inspect.  The upper floors had been placed off limits due to a fear of collapsing them with the additional weight of the curious.  Out back resided a small fleet of wrecked-rusty-rotten- -disheveled stuff and cars, with much of it unidentifiable. 
    The smaller barn had been recently in use and was better organized—but only a little, as it too was stuffed with tools, parts and a hundred plus years of automotive history.  Everything from signs to gas pumps was under cover and was being eagerly pawed over by the best from FABAC, BATANS and the PEI folks.  Unfortunately there was little organization to the collection making it impossible to locate anything systematically.   The E-Type parts had been collected in the porch but amounted to only a small pile of items that I either didn't need or were for a model I didn't own.  Somewhere in the mess we bumped into Kelvin who had arrived (with Jennie of course) separately.
     Despite a concerted search, Dwight failed to find his desired left handed flibble-flabble, and Jerry lost out on a great deal on an MGB hardtop when he started his hunt on the wrong end of the barn.   Joe did a little better with a small armload of ancient license plates. My wad was safe as I dispensed a measly ten bucks for a bag of wiring harness 'bullets'.
    Despite our disappointment, it was an awesome collection to pick through, a great opportunity to catch up with some LBC budds from around the maritimes—and an excellent warning of what could happen if we ever let our hobby get out of hand.
- Bob E.