One day as I walked along, I noticed a fork on the street. I'm used to seeing paper cups, sacks, plastic bottles and all the other common street-side discards of a careless society. A metal fork was different enough for a second look. I assumed it was intended for the dumpster at the other end of the block, but somehow it landed at the corner, appropriately marking a fork in the road.

The utensil itself was a plain, ordinary table fork except that something must have run over it. The tines were flat; the handle was flat. In every way, it was as flat as flatware could be.

Most of the so-called flatware in my kitchen drawer has arches and curves. Even the knives aren't really flat. If I place one on a surface for an eyeball-to-utensil view, I can see that, while the handle touches, there's space between the blade and the surface. With spoons, of course, the bowl-shaped parts are essential for holding food. I wouldn't be at all happy about trying to eat soup, or milk and cereal, with a completely flat spoon.

I could live with a flattened fork. I think the tines would still work to pick up food, but I didn't take the stray with me.

A week or two after I passed it up, I noticed a potato on another street. That surprised me more than the fork, especially since there was no trash container nearby. The potato was a large, oblong variety, just right for baking.

I recalled a frugal friend telling about a similar find that helped make his garden one spring. In this case, I had enough extra potatoes at home already. In fact, plenty of them have already sprouted. I left the potato behind.

I realized, though, that if I were living on the streets or living off what I could find there, the potato and the fork would have been a perfect combination. With a little cleanup for both and some way to cook, I would have had the basics for a meal.

A poem I first read in grade school makes a similar point with a story about a discarded sword instead of a fork. In battle, a coward broke and threw away his blade, complaining it was nothing compared to the one the king's son had. "Then came the king's son," the poet says, "wounded...And weaponless, and saw the broken sword...And ran and snatched it...And saved a great cause that heroic day." The poem is called "Opportunity."

A few pages later, the often quoted and parodied "If—" commends the person who has seen his accomplishments ruined but can "stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools."

Although I had no need for the fork as a tool or for the potato as food, they were reminders of the possibilities all around.

I’m not saying that people should try to find a personal use for every piece of junk on the streets. Most of it belongs in the trash or recycling bins.

In a more general sense, though, what we find is a major part of our lives. I remembered a note my dad left for me after a weekend visit. Passing along advice from his reading, he said to keep finding things instead of merely looking for something.

A photographer with that outlook discovered enough photo opportunities between regular assignments that his pictures of birds, prairie grasses and other natural beauty filled a recent book.

The discarded fork served its purpose for me by conveying a few lessons off the street. There were four points, like the four tines of the fork.

Point 1 — Names don't always mean what they say. True flatware is a rare find.

Point 2 — Unexpected possibilities are right under your nose. Keep your eyes open.

Point 3 — Don't miss an opportunity just because it isn't everything you want. With later developments, it could prove to be a wise choice.

Point 4 — You don't have to make use of every possibility.

I don't regret passing up the flat fork and the potato that showed up later. There are some opportunities I can do without.