09/19/2026
The Tale of the Potato Can š„š¤
Meet what I now consider to be the official mascot piece of Ivy Lane.
Thrifted off Marketplace, this may be one of those purchases that makes anyone following along question whether I actually know what Iām doing.
The truth is, Iām not really sure yet.
The potato can has made me question some of my life choices.
Acquiring her wasnāt exactly difficult. I found her on Marketplace and reached out to a kindly gentleman farmer who lived locally and made the transaction very straightforward. And if you use Marketplace regularly, youāll understand what a rare and beautiful thing that is.
Cash only. Pick up here. At this time.
I knew if I wanted the potato can to come home, I needed to fall in line.
So there was some coordinating. A driver had to be recruited who could meet the sellerās very specific pickup requirements. E-transfers were sent to said driver (my amazing son-in-law - shout out Josh!!).
Plans were made. And then I waited, hoping it would all come together.
I cannot explain my attachment to this thing.
I saw her. I loved her. I had never even heard of a potato can before, but none of that mattered because I thought she was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen.
Keep in mind, my own home is much more vintage/boho than farmhouse.
Also irrelevant, apparently.
When she finally arrived, she was much bigger than I expected. And what I had assumed in the photos was dirt that could be cleaned off turned out to be years of wear and patina.
Which, naturally, only made me love her more.
I photographed her. I researched her. I fully intended to resell her.
And then I found her a spot in my kitchen.
That was the end of that.
This is perhaps Exhibit A in the growing body of evidence suggesting I may not be cut out for the vintage resale business.
I shared her on Threads and asked if anyone had ever heard of a potato can. A few people knew what a potato cannon was. Nobody knew what a potato can was. š
Iāve decided sheās essentially the 50ās version of the more modern potato-and-onion storage box. Iāve never seen another one like her, and I may never see another one again.
So, for now at least, she lives with me.
And I suppose the moral of the story, for all my fellow thrifters, is that beauty really is wherever you happen to find it.
Sometimes youāll go looking for something to sell and come home with something you never even knew existed. Sometimes the things that capture your heart will make absolutely no sense to anyone else. And every once in a while, youāll find something you simply canāt bring yourself to part with. And I think thatās OK.
Maybe the best part of thrifting isnāt always finding something valuable. Maybe sometimes itās finding something that, for reasons you canāt quite explain, feels valuable to you.
For me, apparently, that thing is a giant rusty old potato can. š„š¤
But seriously⦠isnāt she beautiful?
P.S. Donāt even get me started on the very old wooden box sitting beside her. Another Marketplace find that surprised me when I brought it home and discovered he was actually lined with old Toronto newspapers dated April 21, 1898.
Another perfectly reasonable purchase made for resale.Another item that appears to have taken up permanent residency in my house.š¤·āāļø
Iām beginning to see a flaw in my business model. šš¤