One Photograph, One Story
Where Some Things End Up
Old coffee cans, hand tools and a few good sticks turn an ordinary back porch countertop into another little House 173 time capsule.
Some photographs of House 173 require a little explanation.
This is the countertop on the back porch, and I suppose the first thing to admit is that countertops at House 173 are rarely permitted to perform their intended function of simply being countertops. Give us a flat horizontal surface and, sooner or later, we'll fill it.
Look at those old coffee cans.
There's a blue Maxwell House can sitting atop a red Beech-Nut can. Neither contains coffee anymore. They just hold odds and ends... the little things that don't quite belong anywhere else but are apparently important enough not to throw away.
I don't even remember when we acquired the cans, I think maybe they were left behind by the Moshers.
But there they sit, still useful long after somebody brewed the last cup of coffee from them.
Beside them is an old galvanized container, looking every bit as battered as something that's been around House 173 ought to look. The label is long gone, the finish is worn, and today its principal responsibility appears to be holding sticks.
Yes. Sticks.
I could probably tell you what we're saving them for, but there's a very good chance I'd be making it up.
I do know why they're still there, though.
Because they're good sticks.
Every homeowner who has been at this long enough understands the distinction.
Behind all of that is plant food, which is perhaps the only object in the photograph actually residing where you'd expect to find it. The back porch has always been part house, part garden shed, part workshop and part holding area for things awaiting their final destination.
There is also a picnic basket... or at least a wonderful old wicker basket, filled, naturally, with things having nothing whatsoever to do with picnics.
Then look down.
There on the countertop are a couple of old hand tools.
They're worn, rusty and decidedly unphotogenic. One has a plain wooden handle, darkened from use and age. I could have moved them before taking the picture.
I'm glad I didn't.
Because the more I look at this photograph, the more I realize it isn't really about any one of these things.
It's about where things end up.
After nearly three decades at House 173, we've accumulated an awful lot of stuff that has passed through our hands. Some of it gets thrown away. Some gets given away. Some gets used until there's practically nothing left to use.
And some of it just...stays.
Not because it's valuable. Not because it's an heirloom. Sometimes not even because we particularly like it.
It's just still useful.
An old coffee can holds odds and ends. A battered metal container holds a few sticks. A wicker basket holds whatever happened to need holding. A couple of old tools wait on the countertop for the next time they're needed.
And maybe that's why I've started taking pictures like this.
For years I photographed House 173 mostly when something was happening. An outlet was being installed. A room was being painted. A window was being repaired. Something was being built.
Those pictures tell the history of the house in big, obvious steps.
This one doesn't.
Nothing is happening here.
It's just the back porch on an ordinary day, with ordinary things sitting exactly where ordinary life has left them.
But after nearly three decades, I'm beginning to think those photographs may eventually be the ones I enjoy most.
Someday the countertop will be cleared. The coffee cans will disappear. Those old tools will find another home. Somebody will finally decide those sticks aren't nearly as good as we apparently thought they were.
And I'll come across this picture and say:
Oh, look at that.
I'd forgotten we had that.
Which, after all, is exactly what One Photograph, One Story is supposed to be about.
Hey, thanks for stopping by - see ya' next time!
Keywords
House 173, One Photograph One Story, back porch, old house, Maxwell House coffee can, vintage coffee cans, Singer sewing machine, old tools, galvanized pail, everyday history, old house memories, porch storage