This is how it all started: Sherrie Jenkins' grandfather liked to fix things.

When she was a girl, growing up in University Park, Md., he'd take her to the neighborhood "trash truck" on Saturday mornings. She'd select a few toys, and he'd take them back to his garage "and magically repair them. I loved it."

When Jenkins was in high school, her mother started taking her to thrift stores. They could afford to buy new, but didn't want to.

"I loved it from the get-go. I loved the variety, the option to dress in any decade I chose. . . . It just got to seem so wasteful to buy new."

She's still at it. Earlier this month, I joined Jenkins, 44, on one of her biweekly jaunts from her Havertown home to some of her dozen or so favorite shops.

Sure, it's about the thrill of the chase, she says. It's also about economizing in a family with four children. And increasingly, the environment is a factor.

"It just makes sense on a variety of levels," she told me as we pulled up outside the Salvation Army in Collingdale.

Inside, she started in the T-shirt area. Her 14-year-old son likes the ones with skateboard logos and made a list of preferred brands.

Flipping quickly, she passed on the $2.50 GAP shirt and the $1.50 Eagles shirt. Then she paused. "Now here's one. Quicksilver." And for $1.50; new, it might be $20.

She made sure there were no stains, tears, or stretched neck, then put it in her basket.

Then she browsed a shirt rack where she cruised among offerings by L.L. Bean and Tommy Hilfiger.

In women's, she found a $2.50 skirt. Its layers of silk and velvet were just funky enough for her daughter, a college sophomore, who as a result of their shared thrift-store mania has adopted "a clothing trend all her own."

I had expected the clothes to be shabbier. But many were in fine shape; some still had store tags affixed.

About 45 minutes later, Jenkins paid $8.45 for one skirt and four T-shirts.

The National Association of Resale and Thrift Shops cites consumer research showing 16 percent to 18 percent of Americans shop at thrift stores and that the sector's sales are rising sharply. That's the trend, given the poor economy and the expanding green movement.

Want to get an idea of what could be going into landfills? In this region alone, Goodwill Industries' Michael Shaw estimates that donors bring in more than 2.3 million pounds of clothing a year.

In the United States, rubber, leather and textiles - which is as fine as the Environmental Protection Agency parses it - made up 7 percent of the 251 million tons discarded in 2006. In other words: 17.6 million tons.

Thumbing through my eco-bookshelf, I encountered unbounded author enthusiasm for resale stores. They decried the plethora of pesticides spritzed on our cotton, the petroleum used in making synthetics, and all the chemicals used in processing.

"A piece of clothing that was crafted long ago costs nothing to the environment today," notes Christie Matheson in Green Chic: Saving the Earth in Style.

Plus, if it's used, all the chemicals have had time to "offgas."

To me, buying at resale shops also seems an excellent way to reject the built-in obsolescence of fashion, with its fluctuating hemlines, heel heights and colors.

Far from being self-conscious, Jenkins says her four children have come to appreciate the resale virtues.

And because she can't guarantee she'll find what she's looking for, she figures she's teaching them another valuable lesson - the difference between "need" and "want."

At the Family Thrift Shoppe in Collingdale, she checked the glassware, looking for anything with a Liberty Bell, which she collects. She bought a $3.99 gown to use the fabric in a quilt.

Last stop was Ardmore, at the decidedly more upscale Junior League Thrift Shop.

It had a large section of women's formal wear and a man's tuxedo for $75.

One rack of goodies shows how perspectives can change: If clothes get old enough, they're no longer "used"; they're "vintage."

I was tempted by a black, floor-length, velvet cape.

Perfect for the orchestra! Plus, it reminded me of a glorious purple cape I had in my hippie days. At just $30.

But in the end, I made the most eco choice of all: I didn't buy a thing.

Contact staff writer Sandy Bauers at 215-854-5147 or sbauers@phillynews.com. To post a comment, visit her blog at http://go.philly.com/greenspace.