The Plastic Bin Project

For the past year, I've been working on what I call "The Plastic Bin Project" - you've probably heard about it, I've told pretty much everyone I know all about it. It's meant to be a gift for Brother and his daughter, so don't tell them - he won't read about it here, his news consumption being of a slightly (ahem) different persuasion; and my niece is a new mom, so  unless something reaches over the baby’s head and bops her on the nose, not likely to notice. I trust you to keep my secret.

The Project started with a large plastic storage bin my father handed me 30 years ago, after my grandmother died, saying, "Here - now you're The Keeper." That sounded intriguing, so I eagerly took it home, hoping to discover I am actually the scion of an ancient mystical family and the secret lore was finally being entrusted to me, the eldest daughter of the eldest daughter of - oh, wait, wrong side of the family.  It turns out that what was in The Bin was the contents of my grandmother's top bureau drawer, plus a ragged ancient photo album.

If you’re a youngstah, the Top Bureau Drawer requires an explanation. Used to be, every woman's top bureau drawer was where she kept the special things she was saving. Under the handkerchiefs, behind the lacy mantillas and every day and Sunday-special gloves, was a treasure-trove she'd collected: her dead parents' wedding rings, a child's bootie, old lockets with curls of hair inside, her lace-covered wedding missal, a handkerchief embroidered by a great-aunt, a love note from her husband. Nana's top bureau drawer also contained the contents of her grandmother's top bureau drawer.

I'd seen most of what was in The Bin as a child. I had the good fortune to grow up next door, and a favorite rainy-day activity back in the dark ages was to go through parents' and grandparents' top bureau drawers, sniffing the perfumed hankies, fingering the lace, imagining when we'd have our own mantillas and gloves (never, as it turns out), and hearing stories about where each item came from, who made it, who wore it. So, after a quick peek, I put the top back on the Bin and stuck it in a closet. It spent several decades moving with me from house to house, sometimes used as a table for potted plants, sometimes living in the home office, other times tucked out of sight. 

A month before Dad died, he asked to see The Bin again. When he returned it, it was heavier - he'd added the contents of his top bureau drawer. A couple of years passed  before I was willing to take another look, but as I grow closer to the age when I can no longer claim to be a youth, I decided it was time. 

I realized I'm the last living person who can identify most the stuff in The Bin. Brother, being a boy, wasn't interested in the Top Bureau Drawers, so didn't hear the stories when Nan and Gramp were still alive to tell them. I also realized that if I just handed The Plastic Bin on, it would quickly become a bin full of yard-sale or dumpster items. Time to archive the treasures!

It turns out I am the scion of an old family - many old families all threading into the modern skein - with a surprising number of mysteries. It also turns out that waiting 40-plus years to start recording what I'd heard from the old folks was a bit too long - I've forgotten half of what I'd been told. Going through it all again sent me deeply into family history and I realized some of the stories will make no sense to my niece’s children - they'll have never seen a wall phone, or a coal-burning cookstove, or an airplane with plenty of leg room and good meals (nor imagine dressing up to travel rather than undressing once you reach the airport), or a camera that required the subjects to sit perfectly still for the one picture that might ever be taken of them.

Making The Bin's contents relevant took work, and the Internet, bless it, made the effort much simpler. On-line one can discover when this medal or that button or this style of cameo was common, and consequently which one of the Old Folks it likely belonged to. Decades of US Census forms and many semi-ancient newspaper articles are on-line. I was able to identify what country some odd-looking coins came from, what era lovely old postage stamps were from, learn what a mourning cameo looks like; discover that great great great Grandpa David belonged to a regiment from Concord that fought in the Civil War, wonder how great great Grandma Abigail from Hardwick VT (for those of you without a map, it's way the heck up there) met great great Grandpa George from Weare, and discover that great great Grandma Minnie and Grandpa Albert had two kids together, divorced, then Albert married their son's wife's aunt, and Minnie married their daughter's husband's father, and oh, what I would give to attend one of those family reunions!

The contents of The Bin expanded as I told the stories - there are now several bins holding many albums and treasure boxes - and the oddities and mysteries expanded as well. A surprising number of relatives seem to have been unable to keep track of their actual birth dates, first names, parents, and nationalities (odd, for immigrants) and never sorted it out while Relatives Who Knew were still alive to explain. And then, there was the murder...

At the end of the year, I'll pass these bins and the mysteries on to Brother and my niece. It's entirely possible the family mysteries and stories will seem like a burden to her, and the contents of the bins will wind up in a compost bin some day. But it’s been fascinating. I recommend it to anyone with their own malingering Plastic Bin.

Get ready, Niece - soon, you'll become The Keeper. You might want to make a date with your Grandma to look at the contents of her Top Bureau Drawer --- I'm just sayin'.

Originally published in the Concord Monitor, December 25, 2016, as “The Keeper of the Bin.”

All photos 2016 by Debra Marshall