[Rockhounds] So ya wanna be a mineral dealer, eh? - Part 1

[Scott & Meesha Blair]

Hi Tom and group:

While it's true that an "established" mineral dealer might know all the 
right people, and be in all the right places, still I think that the early 
years of mineral dealing are certainly
nice times of genuine, sweet enthusiasm. One's smile is possibly more
contagious during the beginning. You still don't
believe that you actually got into a show, and if you make even a little
money, that's perfect.

Some of the long time mineral dealers seem to have that thousand yard stare. 
They appear as if they are obliged to work under duress. They don't
usually smile.

Even though I count up the cash just like everybody else does, and I judge 
the show by my take just like everyone does, I try to remember that I 
started this out of love. Mineral dealers are a little odd to begin with. 
It's not a common career path. We're a small tribe, so to speak. And so 
we're a little vulnerable. As we drive home after midnight, we hope the deer 
doesn't jump out in front of us, or that the drunk doesn't hit us, or that 
we don't just fall asleep. We're a little competitive sometimes but we hope 
that grace wins out, because we realize that if we didn't have all of us 
working together, the show would be less of a show. At our best, we bring 
something of wonder, a little bit of the miraculous into the everyday, 
ordinary world. Maybe that touches somebody. I hope so.

Back in the early nineties, not wanting my growing rock pile to become a
liabilty to my survivors,  I took a notion to have a rock yard sale. I put
up a few signs on the main street of the Shakespearian town of Ashland,
Oregon, and sure enough, people came rolling in. My first sale, brought in
two or three hundred bucks, but that was like a week or two of work for me 
at my "real" job, so you can imagine my delight.

Once, while selling, smiling, and sitting on my pile, (no similarities to
Shakespeare's barnyard references intended)  I noticed business, which was
usually brisk, suddenly stopped. What the heck? I went down the street, to
see what was going on, half suspecting what had happened. The police had
undertaken to curtail the heinous proliferation of yard sale signs. Unknown 
to me, Ashland had a sign ordinance. I had posted a few signs too many in 
planter strips and on phone poles.
My bustling business had suddenly gone bust. I was angered, but my resolve 
hardened. I contacted neighbors down the boulevard for a two mile stretch, 
and found that, with their permission, I could have more signs than ever in 
their yards. Good times returned. Business flowed. Life was hard working but 
good in those early, formative, yard-sale days of becoming a mineral dealer!

Warm Regards - Scott Blair
www.scottsrocks.com