Many of us grew up seeing these charming dishes in the homes of our relatives, perhaps sitting on a mantel or a kitchen shelf, adding a touch of vintage elegance to our daily lives and sparking curiosity and admiration. These vintage Hen on Nest dishes, with their intricate designs and vibrant colors, evoke a simpler time when such treasures were both practical and decorative.
Dating back to the 18th century, Hen on Nest dishes were initially imported to the U.S. from England at significant expense, making them luxury items that only the wealthy could afford. In 19th century, these dishes were produced by renowned glass companies likе Westmoreland, Indiana Glass, and Fenton. They were often used as candy dishes or trinket holders, their charming hen figurines meticulously crafted to capture the essence of a country farm. The detailed feathers and expressive faces of the hens add a touch of pastoral beauty, making each piece a miniature work of art.
These dishes can vary significantly in price, with some of the most vibrant or authentic-looking pieces originating from the ’70s to ’90s. By examining the details carefully, you can often determine their age, though many lack a maker’s mark. Most pieces typically sell for $5 to $30, but particularly rare or older items can fetch $100 or more. For those looking to start a collection, there are plenty of affordable and colorful options available.
My Cousin Brags about Her ‘Achievements’ Despite Owing Me $5,000 – I Thought About Taking Action, but Karma Took Care of It for Me
When my cousin crashed our rental car, leaving me with a $5,000 bill, I spent months trying to get her to pay me back. Just as I gave up, I saw her flaunting her ‘success’ on social media and discovered I wasn’t the only one she owed. Karma caught up to her, and I got a front-row seat!
It’s been a year since that disastrous West Coast holiday, and I still feel the sting of that $5,000 debt. My cousin Debra, who’s supposed to be an accountant, racked up a huge damage charge on our rental car and then had the audacity to act like it wasn’t her problem.
It was under my name, so guess who got stuck with the bill? That’s right, me. Lisa, the ever-reliable project manager from Boston. I swear, some days I think my middle name should be “Doormat.”
I remember that holiday like it was yesterday. Seven of us cousins decided to get together for some “family bonding” out on the West Coast.
Debra was there, of course, with her charismatic charm and reckless attitude. One evening, she decided it would be a fantastic idea to drive the rental car down a narrow, winding coastal road at night.
The air was crisp, the moonlight casting eerie shadows as she sped along the road, ignoring my pleas to slow down.
“Come on, Lisa, live a little!” Debra laughed, her voice filled with reckless glee.
She cranked up the music and took another swig from her bottle. I clutched the seat, my knuckles white.
“Debra, please, you’re going too fast!” I yelled, my heart pounding.
She just laughed harder, taking a sharp turn way too quickly. My heart stopped as the car skidded toward the edge, tires screeching.
I thought we were all going to die that night, but the guardrail saved us. The impact when we slammed into it was jarring, leaving us all stunned and the car a complete wreck.
The holiday mood? Completely ruined.
When the rental company slapped a $5,000 damage charge on the car, Debra just shrugged.
“We’re family,” she said with a flippant wave of her hand. “We should all pitch in.”
The other cousins mumbled vague agreements.
“Maybe we can split it evenly,” suggested Jimmy, the peacemaker of the group.
“Split it? Are you kidding? I wasn’t even in the car,” retorted Martha, crossing her arms.
“I can’t afford that right now,” mumbled Jake, avoiding eye contact.
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