I recently was very bored one morning and decided to go on a rather lengthy drive out to an estate sale that promised lots of vintage clothes, but that had been going on a couple days. I didn't expect to find much and was right in doing so. It was junk. However, I inadvertently stumbled upon the love of my life!
I have been looking high and low for a suitable tea pot for my kitchen. I wanted one that I would be proud to leave out on the stove, not some Crate and Barrel slick looking high tech kettle that sings opera and does a jig. Sitting on the (yucky) stove was this little guy:
He's dented in on the side, chipped on the handle and his wooden spout is all darkened from hand oils. I think he's from the 40's, 50's at the latest. His whistle is ear-shatteringly high and pure, and he makes the perfect cup of tea (after an intense deyuckifying of course). It really made the long cross-borough treck worth it!