"Picked" Clean

My name is Adam Southern, and I am addicted to junk.

They say admitting you have a problem is the first step toward healing, but somehow I don’t think the 12-step program will help me with my addiction. It has been going on for too long.

I can remember my mom coming into my room when I was a child and saying, “Adam, your room is junky! You need to do something about it!” But, in my eyes, the room was perfect. Why should I do something a bout it? Who was I to tamper with perfection?

Since my addiction was not snuffed out at a young age, it was allowed to blossom, growing like kudzu daily.

It only got worse when I turned 16 and got a job, a truck and a driver’s license. Then, I had money to spend and a way to haul my buys. It wasn’t unusual to hear when I got home, “What did you buy today? Or, “You are not bringing that in my house!” So, I learned a new trick- buy small and sneak it in.

Antique stores, flea markets, yard sales, junk stores, you name it, and I’ve probably been there. Even if I didn’t buy anything, it was always fun to look, and even more fun to learn about the items there for sale. If an item’s missing an electrical cord, kids today don’t know what it is. Furthermore, they probably don’t care w hat it is. If you can’t text with it or access Facebook on it, what good is it anyway, right?

I’ve always been the opposite. Even as a kid, I wanted to know what an item was, what it was used for and how much I could buy it for.

And what luck, when I found my lovely fiancee, I learned that she, too, had a love for antiques. Now, to clarify this, she loves antiques. On the other hand, she says what I buy is junk, not antiques. I prefer to think I’m after “junque,” some sort of mix between antiques and junk, but Kayla insists I’m after plain old junk.


We’re young, engaged and looking for our first house. That’s right. We do not have a house yet. However, despite not having a house of our own, we continue to buy “junque” on a regular basis, cluttering up our parents’ homes until we get a place of our own.

Every time I buy something now, Kayla asks, “Where is this going to go in our house?” My usual reply is, “My office.” (That is, assuming that we will have room in our home for an office.) Kayla’s usual rebuttal is, “You don’t even have an office yet and already you have no more room!”

It’s sad, but true. Together, we have enough stuff to fill two starter homes. Hopefully, Mike and Frank from “American Pickers” will miraculously show up at our pre-wedding yard sale and buy everything for exorbitant prices. Until then, though, we are making trails to walk around in our rooms.

Sadly, there’s a chance Kayla will buy more junk. There’s even a better chance that I w ill buy more. Especially since there’s going to be a one-of-a-kind yard sale at the Athenaeum. That’s right- the Athenaeum is having a yard sale.

No. They are not selling off furnishings. But, they are giving anyone who has re-enacting supplies, clothes, period relics, etc. the opportunity to come and sell their wares on the grounds in the first-ever “Antebellum Yard Sale” at the Athenaeum on Saturday, Sept. 24.

For more information, contact the Athenaeum at (931) 381-4822 and be sure to stop by. Who knows, you may be able to stop me or my darling from buying anything else!

In the picture above, the lovely Kayla is found looking through one of her favorite antique stores!

Remembering 9-11

“Where were you when the world stopped turning that September day?”
-Alan Jackson

I’m sure this song will play several times in the days to come and I am sure several folks will be asking themselves this question, too.
Like every other American, September 11, 2001 is a day I will never forget. The events of the day are etched into my memory and replay like a horrible movie at just a mention of the 9/11.
I was a freshman at Culleoka High School, in my first period class that September day. It was Ag class and the biggest concern I had that morning was if we would get done with all the boring class work so I could actually get in the shop and finally weld on something. (That was before I realized me with a welder was not only a personal hazard, but a hazard to everyone around me.)
Byron Peery, a second generation Culleoka Ag teacher, was late to the podium that morning, so the guys were all cutting up and the girls were reading over their textbooks. It seemed like any typical Culleoka morning, waiting on the teacher to come in.
When Mr. Peery finally walked through the door, it was easy to see he wasn’t his usual self. As he made his way to the podium, he said, as much to himself as to the class, “someone kamikazed.”
Of course, the class was confused. It wasn’t until we saw the images on TV that we understood what he meant.
Kids that were laughing just seconds earlier were suddenly silent, some red with anger, others with tears, fists clenched, a few had their hands over their gaping mouths. When we finally started class, it was just to go through the motions, because everyone’s eyes and minds were with the TV, not with Ag. The class seemed to drag on and on.
When the bell finally rang, we emerged from the Ag Building like zombies and made the short walk to the high school building where the rest of our classmates were. Everyone, including the teachers, looked and acted like we did, all of us just trying to figure out what was going on.
You know, kids are remarkable creatures. By lunchtime, most of them were able to laugh and cutup, able to put what had happened this morning in the back of their minds. The teachers, though, they kept their taut, grim faces all day. Although the students and teachers watched the same thing on TV, the teachers understood the gravity of the situation. The kids did not.
But, what this freshman kid witnessed in the days after 9/11 was something remarkable. Students stood and faced the flag during the Pledge of Allegiance and actually felt the words for the first time. People, usually unpatriotic, were exuberantly proud to be Americans and enthusiastically proud of the United States.
It is a day I will never forget. A day I hope we all remember.
God bless America.