Richmond's Old Depot Antiques is Labor of Love for Barbara Graham

I've passed the antique store on the corner of U.S. 91 and Main Street in Richmond many times on my way to and from my parents' home in Idaho Falls, each time with a moderate degree of intrigue, but always lacking the gumption to stop and take a look.

The parking lot is a dirt driveway occupied by only one other car; I assume it belongs to the owner. There's an old wagon wheel on the small front lawn and a vintage bike leaning against the side of the building.

I'm pleased to see the "open" sign in the window on the front door. I know shops like this open and close at odd hours. They exist more to entertain the owner than to cater to the public's needs.

A cowbell bangs against the door when I walk in. The smell takes me back to every antique store I've ever been in. They all smell the same; a unique mixture of old perfume and wood and dust. If mystery had a smell, I think, it would smell like this.

The ceilings are high, probably 15 feet or so. But all that headroom doesn't remedy the fact that I can barely walk for the piles of books and jewelry boxes and tables and paintings and knickknacks strewn everywhere. The thought crosses my mind what a tragedy it would be to be a claustrophobic antique-lover.

I turn left into a room packed with old clothes. And we're not talking your dad's polyester leisure suits. Feathered and mesh-veiled hats of every color hang around the tall, stately windows. Fur and ruffles and lace, in hues muted with age, poke out of racks and boxes at every angle. I feel like I've just walked into the costume room at MGM Studios in 1935.

A middle-aged woman with classically beautiful Native American features, her long black hair pulled back, looks up from checking a price on something and smiles, and tells me to let her know if I can help her with anything. This is Barbara Graham, and the Old Depot Antique Shop is her baby.

In 1984, Barbara's husband, a veterinarian, got a USDA job offer in Richmond. The couple was living in Phoenix but he wanted to move to a small town. He persuaded Barbara to come with him to Richmond, just to take a look. It was summer when they arrived. The town won them over. Barbara's only fleeting concern was "Do you think it gets cold here?" But after glancing around at all the beautiful flowers in bloom, she decided it couldn't get that bad.

The couple rolled into town with their family and belongings on Oct. 30, 1984, in a whiteout snowstorm.

The next day was Halloween. Barbara and her family awoke to find the entire town decked out in observance of the holiday. The workers at the hotel where they were staying, the bank tellers, everyone dressed up.

Driving down the road, she says, "you would look over and see Santa Claus or a clown in the next car."

All of a sudden the snowstorm from the day before didn't seem quite so bad.

Barbara has a very soft spot in her heart for costumes. Of all the categories of antiques found in her shop, vintage clothing is her favorite.

"I love it," she says, obviously relishing an opportunity to talk about her passion. "I think it started when I was young and I'd play dress up. When we were little there was no television and our parents gave us their discards, old dresses and hats and jewelry, and we played dress up.

Barbara says she drove past the abandoned train depot on the corner at least once a day for years, thinking each time what an excellent spot for an antique shop it was. She tells me about the electric train that used to run where U.S. 91 now runs, down through Ogden and on to Salt Lake City.

The women would get all dressed up and catch the train here, she says, and ride down to Salt Lake and go to the events at the Saltair.

Standing in this room surrounded by clothes those women could have very well been wearing when they made their treks, I feel almost like we're surrounded by their ghosts.

Barbara bought the old train depot three years ago and began moving in 35 years worth of antique collecting.

She continues to augment her collection constantly through estate sales, auctions, consignments -- people bringing in their items for her to purchase and re-sell -- and any other way she can get her hands on merchandise.

Anywhere I travel to, I'm sure to pick something up, she says.

She is standing behind the cash register now and I'm handing her a gorgeous mint-condition rhinestone pin I've decided to purchase. I absent-mindedly express my mutual love for vintage clothes. She points at me and wrinkles up her brow.

"You can't go wrong in collecting something that's old, Jasmine. It always goes up in value."

I nod my head and reach across the shelf in front of the register piled high with random objects to hand her my check. She snakes her arm through a jungle of items that have taken over the cash register counter and meets me half way.

By Jasmine Erickson
Photo by Nancy Williams