I’ve been a little MIA the last few days, and I’d like to say it’s because I was off on some relaxing retreat.

It was not.

I’ve been at Trade Days.

For two straight days, I stood on my feet greeting people, answering questions, and handing out business cards like I was running for public office. By the end of it, I’m pretty sure I introduced myself more times than a guy on the first night of a reality dating show.

The good news? I met a lot of great people and sold a solid chunk of my inventory.

The bad news? I also proved—beyond a shadow of a doubt—that I did not bring nearly enough stuff.

The Land of “Everything You Never Knew You Needed”

Trade Days is an experience.

Imagine a place where you can buy a handcrafted porch swing, a fishing rod, homemade jelly, a birdhouse nicer than your first apartment, and a box of random items that may or may not have come from someone’s attic… all within 50 feet.

That’s Trade Days.

And the crowd? Huge.

I heard multiple people say it took them nearly two hours just to get from the entrance to the field after paying. At that point, you’re not attending an event—you’re on a pilgrimage.

I’d estimate at least 3,000 people came through our section, which explains why I talked so much my voice started negotiating a resignation.

My Two Tables of Confidence

I was fortunate enough to set up with another vendor who sells 3D printed items.

This guy came prepared.

He had six tables. Six. Full. Tables.

Not “we’ll spread things out and make it look nice” full. I mean, packed.

Meanwhile, I rolled in with enough product to confidently fill… two tables.

And just to make things more interesting, those two tables?

They were his.

So not only did he bring enough inventory to run a small retail operation, but I also managed to squat on part of his setup like an uninvited houseguest.

To his credit, he was incredibly gracious. To my credit… I now know I need to make a lot more stuff.

Doing the Math (and Slightly Panicking)

His spot—a 15-foot by 120-foot space with water and electricity—cost $90.

Honestly, after seeing the crowd, that might be one of the better deals out there.

I had several people ask if I’d be back next month, which felt great… until I remembered I already have another show booked that same day.

Also, a small detail—I’d need more inventory, another tent, and a couple more tables.

So yeah, minor logistics.

Pre-Show Fishing (a.k.a. Humbling Myself in Nature)

Before all this, I took a day off and went kayaking with my wife and one of my daughters, who was on spring break.

Now, I’d love to say this was purely about family time.

But I also brought my fishing gear.

Because I have priorities.

While they paddled around enjoying the peaceful scenery, I was off to the side doing what I would describe as “aggressively attempting to catch fish.”

I had several bites… or what I think were bites… or possibly just fish laughing at me underwater.

I did hook one decent fish—briefly—until it wrapped my line around some branches and escaped like it had somewhere important to be.

I managed to land one fish, weighing in at a solid ¾ of a pound.

Naturally, this did not impress my audience.

Mission Accomplished Anyway

The real goal of the trip was to get my daughter out kayaking for the first time.

Later that day, she showed me her sunburned legs like a badge of honor and said she had a great time and wants to go again.

So despite my fishing performance, I’m calling that a win.

The Waiting Game

Now I’ve got the fishing bug again.

Unfortunately, my truck is currently in the shop, which means my fishing plans are on hold for about a week. Probably for the best—it gives the fish time to regroup and rebuild their confidence.

Once I’m back on the road, I’m hoping to fish at least once a week… assuming the weather cooperates.

Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this:

There is nothing quite like making the perfect cast…

…only to have the wind pick it up and deposit your lure directly into a tree like it was the plan all along.

Mother Nature has a sense of humor.

And apparently, I’m part of the joke.

In the meantime, it’s back to the shop—cranking out more inventory and trying to make sure next time I show up with more than “two tables of optimism.”