One Hundred Years

Well, 92 years.

I guess I can understand why I have one hundred years of stuff to dispose of. They came from Europe with very little: For two families, one small trunk about the size of today's average middle-school student's back pack. The woodwork on the trunk was done by my family, and the metal work was done by the other. My family settled in central Minnesota and the other settled further north. In time my family decided to move north also.

The preparations were made during World War I and the move came within a year after Armistice Day.

They lived on the farm during feast and famine. However, the famine on a global level is probably what played most heavily on the hoarding instinct. During both WWI and WWII the family rationed as instructed, and during The Great Depression they had the same needs and wants as everyone else, and like everyone else, they were concerned about where and how these needs would be filled. Fortunately, they had the farm, and the food Mother Nature provides (in or out of season). And they learned how to save what they received. (The story goes that the boys could bring Grandma a deer in the evening and by morning there would be no evidence of its existence except for a shelf in the cellar filled with canned meat that was not there before. I have two jars for evidence--and the seals are still intact.)

So they learned to keep this and that because, "...it's still good.", or "We might need that someday." And yes, the same thoughts go through my mind as I comb through these stashes of forgotten treasure.