by Melanie McGee Bianchi / photos by Renato Rotolo

Christi and Simon Whiteley, former owners of Eldorado Mid-Century Modern Salvage & Antiques, decorate their Barnardsville house with retro Christmas collectibles like blow mold Santas.Acting charitably toward one’s neighbors shows the truest kind of Christmas spirit. And Christi Whiteley is more than happy to be of service—namely by relieving folks of their campiest holiday “junk,” including an eccentric army of vintage plastic blow-molded Santas and elves. “That stuff at yard sales that the owners can’t wait to get rid of, the stuff that no one else will touch—that’s the stuff I love,” she says, noting that she’s never paid more than ten dollars for even the rarest item.

Blow mold figures, popular starting in the 1950s, look exactly like the phrase “blow mold” sounds. Formed with blown plastic much the way blown glass objects are, the hollow, lighted yard statues are cartoonishly large and distinguished by a distinctly postwar jollity. Rummage browsers of lesser vision might still dismiss the giant candles and winking Santas as tacky. “People can’t believe I take them,” says Whiteley, who has about 50 pieces. But anyone with a taste for vintage collectibles knows how desirable ‘50s holiday loot has become. (Gone are the days of stumbling upon a vintage aluminum Christmas tree at a yard sale, for instance, although they, like blow mold figurines, are all over eBay.)

For ten years, Christi and her husband Simon ran Eldorado Mid-Century Modern Salvage & Antiques, first in Hendersonville and then in West Asheville. Now committed eBay hawkers, the Whiteleys closed their store in April to concentrate on raising their two young children in their Barnardsville home, a hip warehouse-turned-mod rural compound perched by a creek. They still own what’s called The Eldorado Building on Haywood Road, which today houses a salon, clothing boutique and florist shop, all flush with a similar quirky-cool élan.

Gaudy, effusive displays are the whole point of a mid-century-style Christmas. “I want to have the house that all my kids’ friends want to come see,” says Whiteley. She dreams of someday setting up a whole forest of retro Christmas trees. For now, she favors the mint-condition, ‘40s-era white tree she scored at the Henderson County Habitat for Humanity ReStore. Referring to her overstuffed storage room—the curse of any serious collector—she also admits: “It’s the easiest tree to get to right now.”

Joyce Cook, in Canton, is a scrupulous antiques collector, eschewing any item made after World War II. She keeps her sunroom decorated for Christmas year-round.Joyce Cook’s house in Canton is also stuffed full of Christmas items, but it’s twinkling light years away from Whiteley’s kitsch and you could hardly call it cluttered—a good thing, considering her sunroom is decorated for Christmas all year round.

Viewing her impeccably appointed rooms, one wonders why Country Living hasn’t come calling. Cook’s enclosed side porch is given over to Early American primitive art; her guest bedroom is a bower of late Victoriana, including an era-appropriate iron bed with quilt. “I am a purist at heart,” says Cook, who disregards any collectibles produced after World War II. And when she decks her halls, she also doubles her standards. “Christmas,” she says, “is my number one love. So when it comes to that, I won’t have it out unless it’s old, early and right as rain.”

Well-preserved finds from Germany merit her warmest approval—pinecone elves, old Santa-shaped candy containers hung as ornaments and original feather trees. On a tree in her living room, she displays a litter of white, frail-legged Santas and farm beasts, all German cotton-batting ornaments made in the late 1800s.  

Antiques dealers in the area call Cook first when they find old holiday items. But a fear of addiction keeps her from eBay: “[Once I got started] I would never leave the computer,” she says. “My habit is bad enough as it is.” And, despite pressure from friends to turn her calling into a second career, becoming a professional interior decorator is something else she says she’d never consider. “I’m too much of a perfectionist,” says Cook. 

She may vary her displays, but the core of her passion does not change. On their ranch surrounded by hills, Joyce’s husband Buford ropes longhorn steer. It’s hard to imagine those unfortunately trendy inflatable rooftop sleighs disgracing such a pristine piece of mountain acreage. “To each his own,” is Cook’s well-worn response to such of-the-minute holiday atrocities, but, she says, “I will never stray from the old way.”