Some stayed five minutes; others lingered for more than an hour. One came a day early; another arrived 10 minutes late. Among them were elderly couples, teenage girls, a mother of twin 2-year-olds and a local business owner.

Each walked down my driveway with the same goal: to find a treasure buried among my junk.

———

Not all of the junk belonged to me. For my first-ever garage sale last weekend, my sister-in-law contributed dozens of items she couldn't use and didn't need, including collections of stuffed bears and porcelain dolls she'd decided to exchange for a fresh start on a clutter-free home.

After hauling out closets at our respective houses, we spent a day tagging items and arranging tables. I don't go to garage sales, so I found it difficult to set prices. How much for the frilly pink Easter dress my daughter only wore once? Would anyone even want an old pair of size 71/2 Saucony running sneakers?

———

The sale was supposed to start at 8, but people were hovering in the driveway at 7:30. One man stopped by the day before, while we were still making price tags, to see if we had any antiques. We didn't.

Once we declared the sale open, business was brisk. I managed to gulp down a bran muffin and a glass of milk between answering questions, making change and bagging clothes.

When it started to rain mid-morning, we carried the tables into the garage, and I was sure we'd get a break. Then three cars pulled up.

We were out of plastic bags by noon.

———

The first thing I learned about garage sales is that people will buy almost anything if the price is right. An old upright Hoover vacuum cleaner sold for $2. A sleeveless dress with a missing button went for 25 cents.

I keep thinking about the gray-haired man who approached us, ready to pay for the four dolls his wife had picked out.

"I think she's still shopping," my sister-in-law said.

"It makes her happy," he said with a shrug.

It seems the world will remain in perfect balance as long as there are equal numbers of pack rats and neat freaks. People like me will always want to get rid of stuff when they reach a certain clutter level, and the collectors will never have too much stuff to buy more.

———

The second thing I learned is that bargain hunters can be very possessive. "That stuff's mine," buyers said on several different occasions, when other shoppers started poking through the items they'd set aside. One woman even brought her own "sold"signs.

At the end of the first day, my sister-in-law had sold all her dolls and ceramic figurines and most of her bears. My CDs, paperbacks and clothes were severely depleted.

By then I was hooked on the fun of putting money into the till, so I tore through my house, looking for items I could live without. We got more of my daughter's old clothes down from the attic and sorted through them with a critical eye. How much did we really need to save for a hypothetical second daughter when there were people out there who could use these clothes now?

———

On the second day, no one came early. We had some repeat customers, back for more bargains.

I loved the idea of people getting pleasure from stuff that was just collecting dust in my house. A smiling little girl put on a Sesame Street baseball cap and handed me a quarter; an elderly man shuffled down the driveway with his wife on one arm and a Hank Williams Jr. album under the other.

At the end of the day, I was still stuck with a 20-year-old, rusty 10-speed bike. I parked it at the end of the driveway with a "free" sign on the handlebars, and it was gone by morning.

People will take anything if it's free.

———

I came away from the experience with one empty closet, several less-cluttered drawers and a new perspective on recycling.

As for the money we made, well, I plan to save some of it, but there is a new CD I've been wanting.

I might as well splurge: If I don't like it, I'm sure someone will snap it up at my next sale.

Lisa Miller is a freelance writer who lives in Oneonta. She can be reached at lisamiller44@hotmail.com.