The first time I wandered into one of Arkansas’s truly massive flea markets, I thought I’d make a quick lap and be back in the car within an hour. That plan lasted about ten minutes.
Somewhere between the rows of weathered antiques, old-school record bins, and tables stacked with everything from fishing lures to farmhouse doors, I completely lost track of time. That’s the thing about flea markets here.
They’re full of stories. I’ve spent whole Saturdays chatting with vendors, digging for vintage glassware, and uncovering finds I didn’t even know I wanted…