My husband once laughed at me for buying a tiny enameled egg at a flea market, but he ended up in for a huge surprise.
I’ve always loved flea markets. There’s something thrilling about digging through piles of forgotten things, hoping to find something special. My passion for these markets started when I was eleven, spending summers with my grandmother in New England. We’d visit every market and street fair within miles, searching for what she called ‘preloved jewels.’
Now that I’m a mother and grandmother, nothing excites me more than rummaging through bins of odds and ends, hoping to find that one amazing item.
My husband, Sam, doesn’t quite get it. He’s a great guy—kind and hardworking—but my love for treasure hunting in what he calls junk is something he’s never understood. It’s our one little disagreement. I might be tempted to give up my hobby to keep the peace, but the thrill of those weekend flea market trips is something I’m not ready to give up.
Recently, Sam surprised me by asking if he could come with me on my next flea market adventure. I was curious about his sudden interest, so I happily agreed.
About a month ago, I went to a nearby town for its street fair on a crisp Saturday morning. I was excited as I wandered among the stalls, and soon my instincts led me to a simple display where a man was selling all kinds of knickknacks.
Among the porcelain cups and bisque figurines, I spotted a small porcelain and enamel egg, about the size of a real egg. It wasn’t very flashy, but something about it caught my eye.
“How much for the egg?” I asked the vendor, who was eyeing me closely, probably deciding how much he could charge me.
“$25,” he said. “And it’s a bargain!”
I pretended to be shocked. “$25 for that? I’ll give you $5.”
The vendor’s eyes widened in surprise. “Five dollars? This is a piece of history! It’s French porcelain!”
“Really?” I replied, raising an eyebrow. “So if I flip it over, I won’t see ‘Made in China’ on the bottom?”
The vendor hesitated, which was a giveaway. “Alright,” I said, “I’ll take it for $10, as is.”
He grumbled but wrapped the egg in newspaper and took my $10. I was thrilled with my find and headed home, my mind buzzing with excitement.
When I walked in, I greeted Sam with a kiss. He was lounging on the sofa, reading his newspaper. “Hey, find any trash?” he asked, clearly not expecting much.
“Actually, yes!” I said with a grin, pulling the wrapped egg from my handbag and unwrapping it carefully.
Sam looked at it with doubt. “That’s it? That’s what you found?”
“Yes!” I replied, beaming. “Isn’t it lovely?”
“What’s it for?” he asked, examining the egg and noting the metal latch and hinges.
“I think it was a jewelry box,” I said, trying to open it. “But it seems to be stuck.”
“It’s probably rusted shut,” Sam said, flipping the egg over. “And look, it says ‘Made in Hong Kong.’ How much did you pay for it?”
Blushing, I admitted, “Ten dollars. The man wanted $25.”
Sam laughed derisively. “You got ripped off again!”
I felt a pang of disappointment but shook the egg, noticing something shift inside. “There’s something in here!” I said, hopeful.
Sam mocked me. “Oh, I’m sure it’s a diamond,” he said, and then, with a twist of his fingers, he pried open the egg. Inside was a tiny bundle of red silk.
I unwrapped the silk carefully to reveal a pair of stunning earrings. They were beautiful—maybe faux, but beautiful nonetheless.
Sam took a closer look. The clear center stone was surrounded by a halo of green gems. He breathed on it, and the stone stayed clear. “Jen,” he said, astonished, “I think these are real!”
“Real?” I asked, amazed.
“I saw a documentary about diamonds,” Sam explained. “A real diamond doesn’t fog up with breath. Look!”
I examined the earrings, shaking my head. “The stones are too big to be real. They’d be worth a fortune!”
But Sam was eager. “Let’s take them to a jeweler for appraisal.”
Reluctantly, we drove to the mall and had the earrings evaluated. The jeweler’s eyes widened as he examined them. “These are diamonds, set in 18-carat white gold. The stones look like emeralds. They’re probably Art Deco. Depending on the quality, they could be worth around $300.”
“$300?” Sam asked.
“$300,000, minimum,” the jeweler corrected. I was stunned and had to lean on Sam for support. We had truly found a treasure!
In reality, the earrings sold for $3 million at auction. The proceeds gave us a significant financial cushion, and the porcelain egg now sits proudly on the mantel of our new home.
As for Sam, he’s now as enthusiastic about antique hunting as I am. He joins me at every flea market and antique fair, and while we haven’t yet found that Van Gogh, we remain hopeful.
