In a tiny village nestled along dusty country roads, there once lived a potter named Jedediah. His hands were thick as hickory stumps, yet he crafted some of the finest pottery in all of Appalachia. One vase, in particular, was his pride and joy—an understated beauty with earthy hues, subtle carvings of vines, and a glaze that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight. Jedediah never revealed its worth or rarity, and after he passed, the vase slipped from memory, destined to live a life of obscurity.
Years went by, and the vase wandered from shop to shop, its unique beauty and value unnoticed. Its first stop was “Daisy’s Thrift Emporium,” where it stood beside porcelain cats and yellowing novels. Priced at fifty cents, it was sold to an eager young mother who thought it’d look “just fine” in her living room, holding silk flowers. That was, of course, until her son decided it’d be better suited as a marble holder. And so, for years, Jedediah’s handcrafted masterpiece clinked with glass marbles of every color, spinning around in a world of laughter and play, unaware of its hidden value.
Eventually, the vase outlived its charm, winding up in the corner of a charity shop, covered in dust and cobwebs. This time, it sold for a quarter to a woman who swore she’d polish it up and “give it a new life,” but it ultimately ended up beside her collection of broken lawn gnomes in the garage. From one shop to the next, this vase traveled, accumulating a story as unique as its craftsmanship.
Then one day, a team from Yee Haul Junk Removal found themselves in a house overflowing with more trinkets than a carnival stall. As they waded through stacks of old newspapers, tin lunchboxes, and a precarious pyramid of ceramic frogs, they stumbled upon the vase, perched beside a broken TV and a disco ball missing half its mirrors. Mike, the owner of Yee Haul, looked at the vase and chuckled. “Just another knick-knack for the road, I reckon.” And with that, he tossed it in the truck.
Mike took the vase home, placing it under his shed “for safekeeping” (which meant, in his language, it would stay there gathering dust until he remembered it). But deep down, Mike knew he had something special, a relic with a story that spanned a century of homes, thrift stores, and children’s games. One day, he might get around to looking up its worth, dreaming of the day he’d sell it for “top dollar,” but for now, the vase would stay under the shed, just another hidden treasure waiting to be discovered—again.
