CORN COB COVE

I use mostly recycled materials found in East Tennessee. My name is Britt and I'm the "master Piddler" in the Cove. My husband, Dan, is the grunt man. Here's our story:

My Papaw Andy, my Daddy's Daddy, had a bunch of...crap. My dad and his brother followed suit. I couldn't understand it! Why keep scraps of aged wood, rusty tools, nuts, bolts, or leftover commercial fabrics? Why hoard metal, wire,

parts to obsolete machines, and bent nails? They laughed about it. Threatening to dump a "truckload of junk" into one another's yards or basements. Papaw Andy passed away in August of 2010. Not long after, the genetic tendency to see 'potential in picks' awoke in my blood. My uncle was tearing down an old fence...the most perfectly weathered boards of cedar you've ever seen. Suddenly, I just couldn't let my uncle haul all of that glorious old wood to the dump. I could see in it the prospect of days filled with glorious 'piddlin.'

So, my uncle took his junk, gave it to my husband, and they "dumped" it in my yard. Thus, Corn Cob Cove was born. And each time I save a button, a scrap of wood, some twine, or a stained shirt, I now see, with new eyes, that there is no such thing as 'junk.'

Inspired by family, East Tennessee, and treasured second, third, and fourth hand picks - come to the Cove for Local Lore on Signs and More!