I cherish every visit to Ithaca, New York, and my hometown. I love long drives in the countryside. I never take the thruway or expressway. We miss so much scenery on gray asphalt for a speedier arrival time.

Before Covid, the local antique store in Ithaca, called Found, had a flea market once a month from May through October. Vendors came from all over NYS, Pennsylvania, and parts of New England. My favorite time to visit has always been between July and September, before the cold and damp reach to stiffen my joints.

The name for the hunting expedition was Found Flea. I left very early to arrive at the 8am opening time. The flea was already bustling with activity. I brought a big travel mug filled with coffee, cloth tote bags, and I was ready. Cicadas were singing their sweet summer song in the trees as I walked the whole area, just to check the wares before I bought. Of course if I found a real treasure, I snagged it immediately because things go fast at a flea market.

Since my family has mostly passed on, I searched for things that had been carelessly donated after they died. Not the exact items, but objects of memory that, if I held them again, could return some of the love that had been lost, just a smidgen, just enough.

I found yardsticks from old hardware stores long gone, a thermometer from an oil delivery service that used to deliver heating oil, a cheese container made of wood, the sewing kit like my great-grandmother had, a drinking glass from the old Esso gas stations that gave them free with a fill-up. 

My best find ever was the exact size and pattern of ceramic bowl my grandmother used to make buttercream frosting. It is a one-quart bowl, cream colored with green flowers embossed on the front and some embellishment in the clay pattern. I bought the bowl for two dollars. I hugged it to my chest and remembered the scent of the buttercream, the ceremony of making the frosting for cookies or cake, the smell of love in vanilla extract. 

At the flea I’d  break for lunch of a local hot dog and root beer, my favorite childhood drink. I spent the good part of a day at the flea market, then drove to the amazing bookstores and artist co-ops on the Commons. I drove up the hill to Cornell, walked the grounds, visited the botanical gardens and arboretum. I drove to Taughannock Falls and walked the trail leading to the waterfall. Sometimes I had dinner at the famous Moosewood restaurant; I have most of their cookbooks from the flea market. 

Found Flea has not returned since Covid. I return every visit to Ithaca and surrounding areas. I’ll be returning again this year. Of course, as always, I’ll take the long way.

Diane Funston, Poet-in-Residence for Yuba Sutter Arts and Culture, created online “Poetry Square”. She has been published in F(r)iction, Lake Affect Magazine, and Still Points Quarterly among others. Her chapbook “Over the Falls” was published by Foothills Publishing.