When we lived in New York City, it was not unusual to find discarded but useful furniture, books, records and entire wardrobes out on the street. This simple recycling phenomenon was, at the time, a way to get rid of things that still had some hope left in them. A kind of sweet and optimistic gesture, people put things out on the street because it was difficult to schlep things to a proper disposal place, of course, but it was common knowledge that someone would use whatever it was. So it was not uncommon to see furniture set aside from the trash, TVs with a scrawled “works” sign taped on, or pieces of clothing hanging on iron fences, displayed with care so that someone might see the size and the cut, sum it up and take it or pass. Among the many things we had no shame picking up were books, records, a bookshelf, side table, a gilt frame — glass intact — from the Waldorf Astoria, an old burnished wood school chair, a sheaf of new hanging file folders, two sets of 1950s wall hangings, and a fabulous painting we call Lulu. We got one great couch, and then later deposited one on the sidewalk, to discover it was gone within 10 minutes. I even nabbed a pair of shoes, polished, clean and perched on two posts of a tree gate like a wrought iron shoe tree. I sanitized them — just in case — and wore them while waitressing for years.

Things changed some once thrift stores turned into resale shops, and people picking through the discarded goods were no longer picking for their own use. Even the venerable Barneys, which we appreciated solely for its accessible bathrooms, was rumored to be selling vintage clothing, and the stylish, useful, cheap pickings from the Salvation Army to the local thrift shop to the sidewalk grew slimmer. I got out of the habit of thinking of trash as reusable, and stopped eyeing near bins and cans for useful items. And once I became a parent, checking out trash just seemed unsanitary!

So when I noticed a ceramic countertop compost [0] container sitting on a wall that we pass daily on the way to Georgia’s school, I was surprised that my first thought was “I’ll have that!” I stopped myself from going to inspect it. I noticed it was next to some multiple shirt hangers, set at a jaunty angle, so then I thought perhaps it was garden art of some kind. After three days of passing the container/hanger configuration I started thinking that this really was meant to be taken: someone had put them there for someone else to use, as a gesture, an offering. But I still wasn’t sure. So I hung back a little to let the post drop-off mom who was walking behind me catch up and said, “Do you suppose these things are here for people to take?” The woman looked at me, embarrassed. This was her house! “My husband puts things out here for people to take. Sometimes he puts a “Free” sign on them. Did you want the hangers?” “No,” I said, “I’m interested in the compost bin.” She looked even more embarrassed, “It’s broken! It has a big hole in the bottom! My husband thought someone could use it for art or something, but I told him it was just trash. Do you want it?” “NO thank you!” I laughed. She shook her head and muttered something about “Husbands!” as she gathered the compost bin and hangers up and took them to the garage.