It is no secret that I love most things antique or vintage, so it comes as no surprise that you’ll find me rummaging about at flea markets.
A few weeks ago, early on a Saturday morning, I drove sans children to a flea market being held in the quaint little town of York. As I followed the road through fields of wheat and canola, I noticed the hot weather we’d been having had turned green fields into golden brown hues, and the contrast against the ochre dirt was quite stunning.
Pulling over to the side of the road, I took in the beautiful setting. I listened to the entrancing melodies of cicadas weaving in and out amongst a bush backdrop parading vividly in a palette of reds, gold, dark browns and olive greens, all dancing before me and presenting a very romantic Australian landscape.
I’m seeing more of nature’s romance since moving to the country and continue to watch with fascination as she seduces those who stop and pay her homage.
Finally, having arrived in York I made my way to where the flea market was being held. It amazes me how everyone in the country knows everyone in the country. Vendors were discussing cake recipes, playgroup times, gossiping about other locals and asking faces they didn’t recognize where they were from, how long they were staying and then forecasting the weather for the next two weeks.
Being a writer, I usually take in details of crowds, individuals and the environment, then store these tit bits away in my memory banks for future reference. However this particular time, my attention to detail slipped and I paid an excruciating price for it.
Ambling lazily past parades of wares, I found myself at a table displaying vintage and antique items for sale. The owner of the stall was an elderly lady, most probably in her seventies with wild hair, a crumpled dress, and the need of a good wash. She caught my eye and shot me a lopped sided grin.
She prattled on about not having enough change and about the ‘angry ant’ that was following her around.
“I’m buying items from a loon” I thought to myself as I placed four dollars into her arthritic hand.
“Mind you that ant deary, he’ll be out to get you,” she warned as I turned to leave.
Glancing down at my feet that were wearing thongs adorned with flowers, I wiggled my toes. At a glance I couldn’t see any ants. Looking back at her, I smiled and shrugged. Loon lady, her gaze steady smiled knowingly and said quietly “the ant will bite you”.
“And you are quite mad” I thought silently, but no sooner had the thought left my head, I felt a searing pain in my foot. Looking down I saw one of the worlds biggest soldier ant wrapped around one of my toes, it’s nippers lodged hard into my flesh.
“OH MY GOD” I cried as I flicked the little red and black insect off and stomped its guts into the ground.
That’s when the pain really started.
“OW BASTARD
Oh you BASTARD!!
Ow OW!
OW BASTARD OW SHIT OW!!!” I yelped as hot searing pain spread quickly into my foot.
“The ant got her, the ant got her” cried loon lady gleefully.
“Yes, your stupid ant got me but I got it” I shot back rubbing my foot painfully.
“The ant got her, the ant go her,” she sung again.
Straightening myself up, I turned to find a sea of stallholders, staring at me quizzically.
“Sorry”, I grimaced, “Soldier ant - and I’m from the city”.
“Ahh” said the sea of faces and nodded knowingly.
“The ant got her the ant got her” loon lady taunted for the third time.
“Will you please shut up?” I hissed through clenched teeth, restraining from shaking a fist at her as I limped off.
Fortunately, a very kind lady from a nearby stall called me over and handed me some Papaw Ointment for the pain. The cream was amazing in its healing properties and the pain subsided to a low throb and the swelling too seemed to ease some.
“Those soldier ants are horrible aren’t they?” she asked as I rubbed a bit more ointment onto my toe.
“Revolting” I agreed.
Just then we heard loon lady shout out “THE ANT GOT HER, THE ANT GOT HER” and turned to see another victim. This time it was an elderly lady who was the quarry of yet another attack.
“Looks like I’m going to run out of Papaw Ointment” the kind stranger sighed.
“She must be certifiable,” I said quietly and to no one in particular as I watched loon lady rearrange items on her table in an erratic manner.
Kind stranger followed my gaze and smiled wirily. “Today is a good day for Anne, she’s usually chasing imaginary chickens.”
“I wonder if she’s caught any?” I thought to myself.
Needless to say I didn’t hang around to see Anne do her chicken run. After a few more purchases, I was satisfied I’d had enough adventure for one morning and drove back to my little house on the hill where Greg and the children were waiting for me.
“Guess what?” I cried out to the family as I limped through the door.
“What mummy, what, WHAT?” Ned and Milly cried impatiently running to greet me.
“Mummy got bitten on the toe by a soldier ant” I boasted slowly and with emphasis.
“Whoa. Did it hurt?” asked Ned
Uh huh” I nodded.
“Did you cry?” he asked again.
No, I was very brave” I smiled at him.
“Is there any blood?” quizzed Milly examining my swollen toe.
“No blood, but I did squash the ant and it’s guts went all over my shoe”.
“Oh, poor mummy, naughty ant – don’t squash my guts mummy”.
“I won’t squash your guts Milly Mop if you don’t bite my toe, deal?” I asked.
“Deal!” she nodded flashing her trademark hippo grin and skipped off to rummage through my handbag.
Greg leaned in and gave me a kiss. He likes kissing me. I like that he likes kissing me.
“Did you have a nice time?” he asked as I sat myself down at our kitchen table which once belonged to his parents, but is now under our possession and slowly being destroyed by the children.
“Well,” I began, “I bought a few things off the loon of York, then she cursed me and then unleashed her ant from hell on me” I replied giving little Bay a cuddle as he waddled into my arms, sucking his thumb and tugging his ear.
Greg raised an eyebrow in surprise.
“Well!” he huffed, “that was rude”.
“I know” I agreed. “She’s mad Greg, an absolute nutter with the worst kind of nature on her side. Next time she does that I’m going to cow tip her. Can I show what I bought?” I asked as I limped off to grab my bags of treasures.













