They say one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. It’s never more apparent than when you walk through a junk yard, a thrift shop, or an antique store. The things other people have given up and tossed out that I can’t begin to understand why they decided they were no longer valuable. There’s a garden in the Nolita neighborhood of New York City that’s the closest I’ve come to actually being in a junk yard. It’s a quiet spot with plenty of places to sit, each a sandwich, and read a book. But, what makes it cool is the art and junk that have collected there. There’s a corner with a collection of ship’s anchors. At another end a door stands in the middle of the grass. There are spires and statues. Spindles of metal. Crosses and angels. Beautiful flowers. I spent over an hour wandering around this small garden and I’m certain I only saw a fraction of what it had to offer. One man’s trash is not only another man’s treasure. It can be beautiful. It can be sentimental. It can be haunting. It tells a story. I’m reminded of a book I read as a child about a doll that was passed from owner to owner. She was continuously lost and forgotten, and yet even after all the wear and tear each new playmate fell in love and made her their own. It makes you wonder where your old toys, treasures, and knickknacks are and where they have been.