You haven’t truly experienced Pennsylvania until you’ve wandered through the labyrinthine wonderland of Jake’s Flea Market in Barto, where one person’s castoffs become another’s treasures, and where the thrill of the hunt rivals any sporting event.
The morning sun casts long shadows across rows of folding tables as vendors arrange their wares with the precision of museum curators, except these displays might feature vintage lunch boxes next to hand-carved wooden ducks and stacks of well-loved vinyl records.
There’s something profoundly human about our attraction to flea markets.
Maybe it’s the shared understanding that we’re all just temporary custodians of stuff, passing objects from one life story to another…