One woman's trash is the same woman's treasure...

The day before we had to evacuate because of Hurricane Ike, we walked around our front and back yards to collect all the "ornaments" I have found at garage sales over the years. With each tropical storm and hurricane, I have carried that stuff from the lawn to the garage, and each time, after the storm passes, fewer of those items find their way back to their original places.

With the threat of Ike, and the wind velocity and the storm surge we expected, I wasn't happy about carrying all those cute little things into the garage. I knew I couldn't leave them out there, because they would become missiles in the wind, and heaven only knew whose window they'd go flying through when the worst of the storm was over our house.

So into the garage went the wrought iron bird house that sits atop a flower and butterfly studded tree branch that's as tall as I am. Right next to it went the wrought iron sculpture that was once a vintage floor lamp but was spray-painted and used as a display for everything from Christmas ornaments to little wooden birdhouses. Next came my parade of ceramic ducks, all happy and smiling, my Quackernackle Choir, as I've always called them. Those little treasures were kept company by all the lawn furniture from the open deck and the back yard. Everything went into the garage, safe and sound and free from flying winds and pouring rains. All of that stuff filled up the half of the garage where I usually keep my car, which was empty because we took both cars with us when we left here.

When we came back to our (thankfully, blessedly, gratefully) un-touched-by-Ike home, before I could put my car back into the garage, I had to remove all those things that were taking up the car's space. Out came the lawn furniture, out came the happy little ducks. Three pieces of plastic lawn furniture went out to the curb-- they were just decorative, for the back lawn, never sat in by anyone other than a couple of raccoons passing through the yard in search of a midnight snack. The next day, my neighbor V carried those three plastic pieces into her yard, hosed them off and brought them to her college-student daughter who put them on the small balcony of her apartment. I told V that had I known she wanted them, she could have had them a long time ago. I also told her that they weren't sturdy enough for anyone over 78 pounds.

The wrought iron pieces (the tall birdhouse and the vintage sculpture) had been favorite treasures of mine from yard sales and flea markets. The birdhouse stands nearly as tall as I do, a simple little birdhouse complete with a wrought iron bird sitting on a perch, atop a tree branch that is embellished with leaves and butterflies. It stands upright because the bottom of the branch splits into three legs. I had found that at the flea market up in Winnie, and over the years I have spray-painted it green, ivory, gold, then ivory again. It has stood in our breakfast room, in the screen porch, in the front garden, and in the back yard. Did I want to put that out again-- it needed to be re-painted.... and then have to bring it into the garage again when the next storm comes along. Out to the curb it went, along with the tree branches that had fallen into our driveway.

The vintage wrought iron thing that I call a "sculpture" came from a yard sale. It had been a floor lamp (as tall as me) and after I bought it for just a few dollars, I had to cut out all the old wiring when I got it home. My husband had asked me what I was going to do "with that thing." At the time, I told him I didn't know, but it was pretty, and interesting, and it would look good just as it was, without it being a floor lamp. Out came the spray paint, and I painted it ivory, with splashes here and there of gold. It has all sorts of heart-shaped curlicues, and four round cup-like spots where the bulbs would have gone if it had still been a lamp. When I had my shop in the antique co-op years ago, I would use it to display vintage linens and doilies. I had to put a sign on the wrought iron "sculpture," telling one and all that it wasn't for sale-- everyone wanted to buy it because it was so unique.

No one knew what they would use it for, but everyone thought it was pretty and interesting and one-of-a-kind. After I left the shop, that sculpture has been in my sitting room, in the breakfast room, the front porch, the back porch. Its last place, pre-Ike, had been underneath the Live Oak in the back corner of the garden. I filled the little "cups" with birdseed and the squirrels and the birds just loved it. After Ike, I put it out on the curb, along with the other wrought iron piece and more tree branches that fell on the front lawn.

As our lawn guys cleaned up all the tree branches, those two wrought iron pieces got covered up so that you couldn't even see they were underneath. Two days before the debris removal trucks came on our street, one of our neighbors rang everyone's doorbells to tell us that the trucks were just taking tree branches, so if we had "any other broken or discarded junk" underneath the branches, we had to "get them all out from under there, dang it."

My neighbor told me this just as it was turning dark. I went out there and pulled out the two wrought iron pieces from underneath the branches. It wasn't an easy thing to do, but the neighbor helped me dig them out. "What the heck are these things anyway?" he wanted to know. "Junk, C, just junk...." is what I told him. I couldn't leave the wrought iron pieces out there on the sidewalk, so I carried them to the back of our driveway and left them laying down against the house. My plan was to toss them out on the curb again, once the regular trash trucks started their normal bi-weekly pick-ups.

Every time I drove my car into the driveway, or walked down the driveway towards the back door, I would look at those two wrought iron pieces. They both looked very sad, just laying there, and they both needed painting. I kept resisting the urge to rescue them again, and promised myself that I would carry them to the curb when the trash trucks came along. The more I saw those wrought iron pieces, the more I remembered how happy I was when I found them.

I lost the battle. I went to the hardware store one afternoon and bought some spray paint. The curlicued once-light fixture is now sitting in all its ivory and gold glory on our front porch. In each of the "cup" settings now sits a fresh pumpkin. I took some orange ribbon and purple bats and added even more Halloween-ish embellishments. It looks fabulous.

The birdcage sitting on the upright tree is now spray-painted black, and it's standing in a corner of the dining room. I hand-painted the butterflies with silver paint, and I put a touch of silver on the eye of the black bird that's sitting on the perch. I took some candy corn pieces and put those in the little cage with the bird, for a touch of Halloween. Then I took purple Mardi Gras beads and draped those over the top of the cage. It looks perfectly Halloween-y and looks better than it ever has. I will probably keep it a Halloween decoration, because of the black paint.

Unless, of course, I decide to spray it red and green for Christmas. "On the first day of Christmas... my true love gave to me... a little bird in a cage sitting in a tree...."