Bins of Miscellany
Practically empty at first, the bins gradually filled with what we found in the woods, on the side of the road or in the street. We were taught to pick up everything, down to a single rusty washer, and throw it in a bin. The more you had collected the more likely an object would be there to "come in handy" when something broke down.
One bin contained plumbing tees and elbows, another, odd steel plates. An old gun stock and threaded rod protruded here, pieces of wire there, plow points and clevises cluttered one bin, rusty hinges and clamps shared another. The wooden frame of a McClellan saddle rested on a deerskin and a goat hide.
I would watch Daddy, a broken part in one hand, pillaging through the bins until he finally plucked out an object that recommended itself. Like magic, pieces always seemed to come together whether repairing or making something from scratch. When Daddy invented his pea-thresher we made the hopper from a wooden shotgun shell case and completed the machine with spikes, a cast-iron crank, an old electric fan and shafts from the bins.
It was in this dark warehouse that I fell in love with tools and making things ... white oak skis from a diagram in the World Book, little laurel frames for school pictures, and model cars to enter in the Fisher Body Craftsman's Guild contest.
from Hill of Beans, my memoir
More images from the BINS OF MISCELLANY here.