My husband once teased me for buying a tiny enameled egg at a flea market, but he was in for the biggest surprise.
I’m totally obsessed with flea markets. There’s something thrilling about digging through piles of old stuff, hoping to find a hidden treasure. My love for flea markets started when I was eleven, spending summers with my grandmother in New England. We’d search every market and street fair we could find, looking for what she called ‘preloved jewels.’
Now, even as a mother and grandmother, nothing excites me more than digging through bins of forgotten items, hoping to discover something special.
My husband, Sam, doesn’t quite understand my passion. He’s a great guy—kind and hardworking—but he thinks of my treasure hunts as sifting through junk. It’s our one big disagreement. Although I might be tempted to give up my hobby to keep the peace, I just can’t let go of the joy those flea market trips bring me.
Recently, Sam surprised me by asking if he could join me on my next flea market outing. 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. My excitement was electric as I wandered among the stalls. Soon, I found a modest table where a man was selling all sorts of knickknacks.
Among the porcelain cups and figurines, I spotted a small porcelain and enamel egg, about the size of a real egg. It wasn’t particularly eye-catching, but something about it grabbed my attention.
“How much for the egg?” I asked the vendor, who was studying me closely, probably trying to figure out how much he could charge.
“$25,” he said. “And it’s a steal!”
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, skeptical. “So if I flip it over, I won’t see ‘Made in China’ stamped 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, already imagining the possibilities.
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 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 carefully unwrapped the silk to reveal a pair of exquisite earrings. They were stunning—maybe fake, but beautiful nonetheless.
Sam examined one closely. 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, incredulous.
“I saw a documentary about diamonds,” Sam explained. “A real diamond doesn’t fog up with breath. Look!”
I peered at the earrings, shaking my head. “The stones are too large 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 the end, the earrings sold for $3 million at auction. The money gave us a huge financial boost, and the porcelain egg now proudly sits on the mantel of our new home.
As for Sam, he’s now as excited about antique hunting as I am. He joins me at every flea market and antique fair. While we haven’t yet found a Van Gogh, we remain hopeful.
