Rich furniture and ragged furniture, carts, wagons, and drays, ropes, canvas, and straw, packers, porters, and draymen, white, yellow, and black, occupy the streets from east to west, from north to south, on this day. Every one I spoke to on the subject complained of this custom as most annoying, but all assured me it was unavoidable, if you inhabit a rented house.
More than one of my New York friends have built or bought houses solely to avoid this annual inconvenience. John Pintard , a co-founder of the New-York Historical Society described moving day in a letter to his daughter Eliza in or Yest[erda]y was very unfavorable for the general moving of our great city. This practice of move all, to strangers appears absurd, but it is attended with the advantage of affording a greater choice of abodes in the Feb[ruar]y quarter.
Frontiersman Davey Crockett described his experience of Moving Day when he came to the city to be guest of honor at a dinner given by the Whig Party in By the time we returned down Broadway, it seemed to me that the city was flying before some awful calamity. Everyone appears to be pitching out their furniture, and packing it off.
It seemed a kind of frolic, as if they were changing houses just for fun.
Every street was crowded with carts, drays, and people. So the world goes. It would take a good deal to get me out of my log-house; but here, I understand, many persons "move" every year. Felton", in her book American Life: By an established custom, the houses are let from this day [May 1st] for the term of one year certain; and, as the inhabitants in general love variety, and seldom reside in the same house for two consecutive years, those who have to change, which appears to be nearly the whole city, must be all removed together.
Hence, from the peep of day till twilight, may be seen carts which go at a rate of speed astonishingly rapid, laden with furniture of every kind, racing up and down the city, as if its inhabitants were flying from a pestilence, pursued by death with his broad scythe just ready to mow them into eternity. It will begin early — before some of us are up, no doubt, and it will continue late. The sidewalks will be worse obstructed in every street than Wall-street is where the brokers are in full blast.
Old beds and ricketty bedstands, handsome pianos and kitchen furniture, will be chaotically huddled together. Everything will be in a muddle.
Everybody in a hurry, smashing mirrors in his haste, and carefully guarding boot boxes from harm. Sofas that go out sound will go in maimed, tables that enjoyed castors will scratch along and "tip" on one less than its complement.
Bed-screws will be lost in the confusion, and many a good piece of furniture badly bruised in consequence. Family pictures will be sadly marred, and the china will be a broken set before night, in many a house.
All houses will be dirty — never so dirty — into which people move, and the dirt of the old will seem enviable beside the cleanliness of the new. The old people will in their hearts murmur at these moving dispensations. The younger people, though aching in every bone, and "tired to death," will relish the change, and think the new closets more roomy and more nice, and delight themselves fancying how this piece of furniture will look here and that piece in the other corner.
The still "younger ones" will still more enjoy it. Into the cellar and upon the roof, into the rat-holes and on the yard fence, into each room and prying into every cupboard, they mill make reprisals of many things "worth saving," and mark the day white in their calendar, as little less to be longed for in the return than Fourth of July itself.
Keep your tempers, good people. Don't growl at the carmen nor haggle over the price charged. When the scratched furniture comes in don't believe it is utterly ruined, — a few nails, a little glue, a piece of putty, and a pint of varnish will rejuvenate many articles that will grow very old 'twixt morning and night, and undo much of the mischief that comes of moving, and which at first sight seems irreparable. Fine weather, to the great comfort of the locomotive public. Never knew the city in such a chaotic state.
Every other house seems to be disgorging itself into the street; all the sidewalks are lumbered with bureaus and bedsteads to the utter destruction of their character as thoroughfares, and all the space between the sidewalks is occupied by long processions of carts and wagons and vehicles omnigenous laden with perilous piles of moveables. We certainly haven't advanced as a people beyond the nomadic or migratory stage of civilization analogous to that of the pastoral cow feeders of the Tartar Steppes.
Not particularly civil at any time, on moving day he must be approached with caution. He has become lord of the ascendant.
Ordinary offers do not tempt him. Boss that you need to woo? In the last weeks before moving, share the love by inviting them to a last supper. Take the spice rack for example. It is common practice for movers to throw away these small and insignificant gems in a bid to make the load lighter.
However, replenishing a hearty spice rack can be far more costly than the burden of moving it. Instead of turfing out valuable staples, try to find a convenient way of moving them using space that would otherwise go unfilled. Empty Tupperware is perfect. Different people swear by different moving devices when it comes to packing stuff up; from the sturdy blue IKEA bag, to wangling cardboard crisp boxes for free from the local off-licence.
The truth of the matter is that your mode of transportation will very much depend on you. He suggests cardboard boxes for their prime stacking ability: For a sturdier alternative to cardboard, you can rent plastic crates. Believe it or not, there are some eco bonuses that come alongside these crates.
When it comes to moving, time is money — quite literally. Making an additional trip or clocking up extra, unplanned hours on the removal van can shoot costs up.