Marble treasures

By Christine Tailer
HCP columnist 

Some people are collectors. My mother was a collector of scarves. She had one to coordinate with every outfit. Back when I was an attorney, I took great joy in accessorizing my lawyerly attire by choosing just the right scarf to wear to court on any particular day. 

Throughout the day’s hearings, I’d feel as though my mother was warmly watching over me. Even now that I mostly dress in work boots and denim, I still enjoy sorting through my mother’s scarves, running my fingers across them, and then choosing and draping the perfect one around my neck before Greg and I head out to a special dinner.

It is hard to categorize my father’s collection. He simply acquired an assortment of amazing things, each one of which held meaning to a particular aspect of his varied life. He kept his longshoreman’s hook until the day he died. I remember how he’d curl his fingers around the worn wooden handle and tell us stories about life on the docks. He kept the brass cannon he turned on his Atlas lathe, and yes, he held on to both lathe and cannon until he was well into his later years when he gave the lathe to Greg and the cannon to me. He kept many of the mechanical clocks he built back in his clock maker days, until one day when he asked if Greg would mind taking care of his clock collection. Of course, Greg obliged.

So, I suppose it’s no wonder that I inherited the collecting gene, and I do collect. I collect red tractors, ceramic frogs, wooden boxes and yes, I also collect marbles. Now some folks might think that I’ve literally lost my marbles and gone quite crazy over these small glass orbs, but I beg to differ. My proof is that this past weekend Greg and I gathered with perhaps 100 or so other marble collecting folks. We all came together to share our love of marbles. I know. Now you are wondering if perhaps we are all quite crazy.

You might be curious how it is that marble collectors from all over everywhere get together and play. Yes, we really do play, not exactly knuckling down on the ground for a rousing game of ringer, but we do indeed play. We laugh, hug, trade stories and marbles, and at the end, return home with our pockets filled with new treasures to sort through and add to our many collections. It all goes something like this.

A hotel is chosen and a block of rooms reserved. This past weekend, there was a glorious total of 44 individually reserved rooms, each one wonderfully filled by a marble collector and their marbles. Some folks had flown, and then driven rental cars for the last leg of their journey. Others had driven for a day or more to get to the appointed hotel. There were husband and wife teams, both of whom collected. 

There were some couples, where one was the collector and the other was simply the smiling supportive spouse. When Greg is asked if he collects, he shakes his head and warmly replies that he is my chauffeur – and drive he does. When we attend such an event, we wake early in the predawn darkness, water and feed the farm animals, and then drive to join our marble friends for the day. It is well after dark when we make the last turn to head back home down the creek valley road.

When we arrive at the hotel, we walk up to the front desk, and there we find a list of each marble collector’s name, and beside each name, their room number. I take a photo of the list with my phone, and then Greg and I take the elevator up to the second floor. This is where the fun begins. Looking down the hall it is clear to see that the room doors have all been left open. A sign outside each door declares the occupant’s name. Some folks have placed cool lights just outside their doors. Others have marble-themed doorstops.

We enter the first room closest to the elevator. A few folks have gathered inside, talking and looking at marbles, and there are marbles literally everywhere, spread out on the beds and tables, covering every imaginable surface. There are individual marbles in sectioned trays. There are large boxes and bins filled with marbles. Other marbles are beautifully displayed in wooden cases, and of course there are vintage marble games, marble books, marble jewelry, and marble stands. There are small marbles, no bigger than the head of a pin, and other marbles as large as a softball. Some marbles are modern. Others are over 150 years old.

Heads turn our way as we enter, and we greet everyone. I hug my longtime collector friends and catch up on the months since we’ve last seen each other, and then I get down to some serious marble perusing. Some folks carry small flashlights or a magnifying glass to better see the marbles. I do too, but usually just pick up a marble that attracts my eye, and roll it between my fingers to feel for any imperfections. The marble might be for sale, and have a price sticker on it, or it might be in a large bin of marbles labeled “$1 each or six for $5,” or the room’s occupant might say, “No, sorry, but that one is not for sale. It’s one of my keepers.”

Finally, I have a handful of marbles, that by my calculation should cost $35. I hold them out with a smile, and am greeted with a grin and the sum of $25. I believe that marble folks are notoriously poor mathematicians. I bid this room’s occupants farewell, and just as I turn to head down the hall to the next room, yet another marble or two, are placed in my hand. Really, marble people are simply notoriously generous.  

The hours pass easily, and just as our backs wear out from so much bending and careful scrutiny, we have visited all 44 rooms, and hugged and caught up with all of our special marble friends. They understand that we cannot spend the night and stay up until the wee hours of the morning buying, selling and trading marbles, and perhaps, even more importantly, sharing stories and laughing the night away.

The next morning, I cannot wait to finish up the animal chores, sit at my bench and sort through my new acquisitions, and oh how I love to find the perfect place for each marble. I know that whenever I pass it by, I will remember the dear friend from whom I acquired it. Perhaps that is the true joy of collecting. Perhaps we are not crazy collectors after all. Perhaps we are just sentimental folks for whom the real treasure is the memories held by each of these small glass orbs.

Christine Tailer is an attorney and former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in Ohio south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com.