If This Coffee Pot Could Talk

I heard someone refer to me as a ‘mid century camping kettle’ the other day. Said I was vintage and they may come back to get me. Imagine. Someone may want me again.

I don’t remember when I was brought into this world or where I came from, but I remember the first time I was found.

Much time had passed and it showed on my battered and scuffed tin armor.

It seemed I had become a fixture in the woods for a few years, undisturbed except for the wind, rain and snow that rusted and tarnished me through the seasons. I did have lots of company though – many little critters seemed to use my strong fat belly for cover and protection from the elements.

I noticed houses being built nearby after some years; the sounds of the quiet breeze, rustling of leaves and the chatter of animals and birds was overpowered by the shrieks of machines twisting and trees thudding as they hit the ground. Eventually, young children came to play nearby, in a natural clearing in the woods.

One day, a young girl with round dark eyes and pigtails was foraging through the trees. “I’m going to the supermarket to buy us food,” she said in a sweet little voice as I watched her collect fallen twigs and leaves in a paper bag. She was about to turn back-on to me when she caught sight of me from the corner of her eye. Her face lit up and she squeezed through some branches until she could reach me.

She lifted me up and took a good look at me. She swept off some dirt and dead leaves with her tiny fingers and squealed, “Tracy, Corrine, look what I found for our house!” She ran into the clearing while excitedly grasping me, and I have to say, the rush of air and feel of sunshine fully bathing me was heavenly!

There was an old blanket laid over the mossy earth, some broken twigs and an infinite amount of green and rust-coloured tree needles sprinkled around it. There were tiny orange cups and bowls and plates laid out neatly, and three little girls sat cross-legged beside them. As soon as they saw me, they jumped to their feet and looked at me like I was the most perfect kettle in the world.

“Daphne,” two of the three little girls said at the same time, “Can we hold it?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, as she picked up an old rag hung on a nearby branch. “You can after I clean it up some more, and pour our tea for dinner!” As the two girls smiled, I noticed the third girl with big cheeks and long blond hair scowling at my rescuer, who was wiping some caked dirt off me.

Suddenly, she pushed the other girls aside and snatched me from Daphne.

“Give it back!” Daphne shouted, grabbing the fat-cheeked girl’s arm and struggling. Unable to get away, my kidnapper stopped and shouted, “Here, you can have it!” and before I knew it, she held me high into the air. Time seemed to stand still for a moment.

Then I came crashing down hard on Daphne’s head. There was a loud bang, and the ringing sound that reverberated through me was just awful! My backside hurt and I could feel a big dent formed in my carcass as the blond girl ran out of the woods and I bounced into a tree, and back to the ground. Daphne grabbed her head and sobbed uncontrollably. Tracy and Corrine gathered around her with fear in their eyes and said “We’re so sorry – you were the one who found it, it’s your kettle! Are you OK?”

“I’m going home and telling my mom,” she cried, “I hate your cousin!” and she ran off. Without me.

The two little girls gathered their little plastic dishes and spoke worriedly about how ‘bad’ their cousin had behaved, and it was a ‘good thing’ she would be leaving the next day. They picked me up from where I laid upside-down on the bumpy gravel and set me down on the blanket before leaving to go home.

And they were right. Their pesky cousin never came back. Unfortunately, the other girls only came back a few times, and talked about ‘moving away.’ Afterwards, I was left alone in the woods again with the critters, for what may have been years, until a bulldozer ran through and scooped me up with some trees. I remained muffled in the dark for a long time after that. I’m not sure for how long, or how I even came into the light again. I am only sure that I was lonely.

It was an adult who picked me up out of the darkness once again, but I quickly ended up in a large container with “recyclable” written across it in large letters. I was surrounded by metal objects of so many different shapes and sizes, all of them rubbing and scraping against me. It was horribly uncomfortable, so I was relieved when someone started looking through the objects and taking some out. When they got to me, I was also chosen. I was so relieved to get to move into the light again.

The person looked scruffy and did not live in a house, not like the ones I saw built near the woods I had lived in, but I was washed in warm water and once again resumed a purpose. I forgot how good the heat felt, and was quite happy in this dark little shack, often hanging over a small fire for a year or so. I was eventually traded for a couple of dollar bills and ended up in a few different places before being packed in a box somewhere, left in the dark again.

When I finally came back into the light, I was taken directly from the box and laid outdoors on a wooden table with a lot of other items, next to a tall house and a car. A woman put a sticker on my belly. Not long after, dollars exchanged hands and I was bathed in soapy warm water and sitting in a very tiny house on wheels, boiling water on a teeny tiny stove. For a few months of the year, I did this almost daily. Then the little wheeled house would be closed up for a few months and moved into a cold and dark room. I would just sit next to the window of what they called “the camper” looking outside at a concrete wall.

Some time after, new people came and took ownership of the camper and I watched them as they started taking out all the dishes and utensils and replacing them with new ones. I was packed up in a box again, but just for a short while. This time when I came into the light, I was placed in a large room with many, many other items.

I didn’t recognize most things, although I remembered having seen a radio, telephone, tea cups, large rusted saw and tin buckets in the past. They were nearly identical to some I had seen from my earlier life, of which I have very few memories.

I expected to be stashed away somewhere again, but a man laid me on a table, and then the floor, as he arranged other items above and around me. Some of us had tiny stickers or cards with writing attached to us with string.

I lived here for a little while, long enough to have learned the names of most of the other things before they were taken away, often just one or two at a time, and new items took their place. The object I was closest to was called a medicine cabinet by people who visited the large room, often called an ‘antique shop’ by its visitors.

The cabinet sat next to me and had a mirror, so when I spoke to it, I felt as if I was speaking to myself, until it answered me back and told me stories of people staring at them and storing strange little bottles inside. The cabinet complained about being opened and closed so much that their door didn’t stay closed anymore.

On a shelf far above me, there was a small person who didn’t move, called a ‘doll’ and ‘Elvis’ by the shop’s visitors. People sometimes sang to him and eventually he learned one song about a hound dog and sang it to the rest of us, even when people weren’t there. He was a terrible singer and I was glad when someone took him away.

There were other dolls there that looked different from Elvis. One was blue with a funny white hat, called a ‘Smurf,’ and another was red and blue with large black eyes, called ‘Spider-Man’ by visitors. But I had met many spiders before and he looked nothing like them.

There were others I couldn’t see from where I sat on the floor, and they were called names, such as ‘baby,’ ‘Mickey Mouse’ and ‘Donald Duck.’ I got to know many other items as well, but the medicine cabinet and the painted-blue glass pig were my favorite. I met a live pig or two many years ago, and I usually liked them better than people. But I had never met a blue pig made of glass. Many people called them a ‘piggy bank’ or ‘oink-oink.’

Us antiques were often called by different names. I was referred to as an old coffee pot, a rustic (or rusted?) camping kettle or just simply ‘old.’ A couple of days ago, I was called ‘vintage’ which sounded more prestigious.

But today, it is my turn to be taken away. A person, called Janet by another shopper, lifts me off the floor, turns me and looks me up and down.

“Oh, great, it’s still here. Gosh, I haven’t seen one of these camp coffee pots in years! Probably from the fifties or sixties. I think it’s worth something.” She brings me to the man who stages us and she gives him some dollars. Then Janet brings me to her car and I sit down next to her, in my very own seat. “Maybe I’ll put you up for sale on eBay,” she says to me. I have no idea what that means.

Afterwards, she takes me into a house, washes me, and even uses a soft toothbrush to clean little crevices I didn’t know I had, with a cleaner that stings me a little. Then she uses the softest cloth I ever felt in my life to polish me.

Shortly after, she holds a little flat box, that she talked into earlier while we drove away from the shop, in front of her face and a flash blinds me for a moment.

I feel special with all of the attention she is paying to me. She sits down and she opens a book-sized flat box that has buttons inside of it. She pushes the buttons and letters appear just above, on the box's lid. A man who walks into the room calls it a ‘laptop.’

“Say ‘mid 20th century’ instead of vintage. Sounds more valuable,” the man said to Janet. She smiles and agrees, and when she is done, she puts me in a decorative cloth drawstring bag and brings me to a quiet room, where I can only hear the murmurs of their talking afterwards. But it is nice sitting in the quiet for a change, after all of the incessant chatter of people and things in the antique shop.

A few days later, she comes back to see me, carries me out of the room and takes me out of the bag. I’m shocked when she actually starts talking to me!

She tells me I am a ‘beauty’ and worth more than she had known. She says a small museum is going to take me and I will be well cared for and appreciated. I couldn’t imagine anyone taking better care of me than she had, but I am no less excited. Before I have more time to think about it, I am placed inside a box for just a short time. Finally, I am put on display in the place called a museum.

After being tossed around for so much of my life, it is a pleasant surprise to learn I am actually so valuable. Except for Daphne and her playmates those years ago, and Janet, I was made to believe I was just a used thing. Something meant to be repeatedly thrown away.

But I always had an important purpose, even though it wasn’t always acknowledged; now, sitting on my own special shelf, I hear ‘oohs and aahs,’ and “Wow, imagine how many cups of coffee came from that pot!” as I feel my polished belly beam with pride under the warm showcase light.