In Belgium many towns developed the garden estates just after the first world war at the edge of the town. The premise was to create enjoyable living surroundings for families. Houses with front and back gardens, a communal area with lots of greenery which was unusual for towns. Shops, pubs were not incorporated. And up to this day they haven't changed the ideology. Every street has a 'flowery' name
I don't know when the estate was build in my mum's town, but the houses in her street are mainly from the fifties.
Wow, I digressed somewhat.
Well, a while ago I was visitng my mum and she got a flyer in her letterbox to let people from the estate know there would be a flea market on the 5th August.
That's when our eyes start to sparkle. " Will I put our name down and book us a place ?" she asked, possibly hoping I wouldn't be interested. "Yes, why not." said I.
So we did. In the weeks leading up to today, we rummaged our belongings. My cousin', who is moving house soon, brought half the contents of her house (and lots of her stuff is now in my home - of course) to add to our market stall. My sis in law came with a mountain of baby clothes.
Mum displaying the baby clothes
Ready to roll
This morning, before 8 am, we were ready to set up the family business of flea market stall holders. This evening we were pooped and decided that we might not be doing this again in a hurry. People were scarse, takings were low. But did we enjoy it ? Yes, I believe we did. A bit of family bonding behind a market stall is something not to be sniffed at.
Bert, Mathias and SIL, Joelle munching away on ham and cheese sarnies
Cousin once removed, Katrien, playing a tune on her squeezebox,
which unfortunately didn't sell.
Cousin Irma, enjoying the sunshine.
And our stall was the nicest looking of all. So there.
Love it when you pass by. Love it even more when you leave your comments.
Patricia (who has probably written more oddities in her post than ever before - because she is pooped)