History and preserving the past runs through the veins of my entire family. Recently, while looking for remnants of stories in the woods of my son’s 1772 homestead, I discovered these pieces of rusty enamel entangled in vines and tree roots, partially hidden by years of leaf fall. Gathering them, I imagined the many hands over the years putting them to their utilitarian usefulness. I found beauty in the contrast of the rust of age and the glimmer of youth in the red enamel lip. As I began to leave, my treasures under my arms, I notice a sprinkling of white under the 200-year-old black walnut tree. To my surprise they were violets, blooming out of season. They were meant to be together.