One Photograph, One Story
Put a Plant In It
A $10 vintage Old Pal minnow bucket travels three hours to House 173 and finds a second life as an unlikely garden planter.
There are perfectly good flowerpots in the world.
We own some of them.
And yet, somehow, this old galvanized Old Pal Minnow Bucket ended up with a plant growing out of it.
That story actually started about three hours away.
I spotted the bucket for sale for ten bucks. There was only one problem: it wasn't anywhere near me. My brother, however, lives about three hours away and was close enough to retrieve it.
So I did what any reasonable person does when he sees a battered old minnow bucket he doesn't need.
I called my brother.
Some families exchange birthday cards. Apparently, we have a regional antique-retrieval service.
Eventually the bucket made its way to House 173, where I faced the obvious question: What exactly were we going to do with an old minnow bucket?
Put a plant in it, of course.
I took this picture one summer morning when the backyard was doing what it does best, growing slightly out of control.
The Rose of Sharon was blooming behind it, the daylilies were reaching across the bench, and assorted other greenery was competing for whatever sunlight hadn't already been claimed. In the middle sat that old bucket, looking as though it had been there forever.
It hadn't.
You know, every time I grab that dented old minnow bucket from the shed, it takes me right back to those foggy mornings out on Berlin Pond just outside of Barre. I’d sit there on the damp grass with my coffee, listening to the water sloshing against the plastic mesh while a dozen little fatheads swam circles inside, totally clueless that they were about to meet some hungry smallmouth bass. By the time the sun finally cleared the hills and warmed up that crisp Vermont air, the bait would be gone, the bucket would be empty, and I’d be walking back to my truck with a heavy stringer and absolutely nothing else on my mind. — The Granite Shallows and Other Vermont Reminiscences by Eben Kinneson
But House 173 has a way of making things look like they belong.
I love the faded red lettering against the galvanized metal, especially surrounded by all that green and the pink flowers behind it. The dents, scratches and worn paint are the best parts. A shiny new reproduction wouldn't look half as good.
And for ten dollars, plus one very accommodating brother, I think I did pretty well.
I've never been particularly interested in a yard where every plant knows its assigned position and nothing dares lean into the walkway. Around here, plants wander. Old things get new jobs. And occasionally the weeds are simply granted permanent residency.
That old minnow bucket doesn't catch many minnows these days.
But tucked into a little corner of our one-tenth-acre city lot, it has found its second career.
Hey, thanks for stopping by - see ya' next time!
