“Since 1985, every woman who buys one of my fruit jars says the same thing: ‘My mother had one just like this.’” — Why a 69-year-old Tennessee painter is selling her last hand-painted fruit jars at a special price before her kiln goes cold for good.

It happens at almost every flea market. A woman walks past Imogene Tolley’s table, stops, and picks up a little jar with a strawberry on the lid. She turns it in her hands. Then she says it, quietly, as if to herself: “My mother had one just like this.”

Imogene is 69. She has heard that sentence thousands of times. She has painted fruit jars in a garage in Erwin, Tennessee, since 1985. More than 9,000 of them. And she knows exactly why women stop at her table.

“They’re not looking at a jar. They’re looking at their mother’s kitchen.”

The one paintbrush that came home from the factory

Erwin is a small town of about 6,000 people in the mountains of East Tennessee. For 40 years, it was home to a big pottery. Over a thousand people worked there, most of them local women. They painted fruit and flowers on plates, cups and jars. Every piece by hand, without a pattern to trace.

Imogene’s mother, Ruby, was one of those painters. In the spring of 1957, the pottery closed for good. Imogene was born that same spring.

Ruby took one thing home from her old workbench: a thin paintbrush with a wooden handle. With that brush, she taught her daughter to paint at the kitchen table. The first lesson was always the same.

“Mama said a strawberry has seven seeds on the front. Never six. Never eight. I’ve stuck to that my whole life.”

Seven seeds, painted one at a time

In 1985, Imogene bought a used kiln for $400 and set up shop in the one-car garage behind her house. Two wooden shelves, 30 little pots of glaze, a window facing the morning sun. An old radio on the sill plays the gospel station from Johnson City.

Her mother painted on flat plates. Imogene wanted the fruit to come off the jar, so you could feel it. Each jar is about 4½ inches tall and holds about two cups. Painting one takes her about four hours, one fruit at a time. Here is what makes it different from anything you find in a store:

• “The Raised-Fruit Relief”: The fruit is not printed on. It is shaped in the clay and stands out from the jar. You can feel every strawberry with your thumb. Then each one is painted in by hand.
• “The Woven-Basket Body”: A basket pattern is pressed into the clay all the way around. It frames the fruit like a basket from the farmers market and gives your hand a good grip.
• “The Seated Lid”: The lid sits down inside the rim instead of on top of it. It does not slide or rattle, and it keeps dust and fruit flies out of your sugar and coffee.
• “The Fruit-Knob Grip”: The handle on top is a little fruit of its own, the same fruit as the jar. It is big enough for stiff fingers on a cold morning, and on a shelf it tells you at a glance which jar is which.

Five fruits from an East Tennessee backyard

Imogene paints only fruit she has picked herself. Strawberries from her mother’s garden patch. Blackberries from the bushes along the river. Lemons, because Ruby always kept a bowl of them on the table. Persimmons from the old tree behind the church. And apples, because no kitchen in the mountains was ever without them.

The last thing she paints on every jar

Imogene uses new brushes for almost everything. But one brush stands apart, in an old mason jar on the bench. It is Ruby’s brush. The paint on the handle is worn away in two spots, right where two women held it for 70 years.

“Mama’s brush paints the seeds. Since 1985, that’s the last thing I do on every jar. It doesn’t feel finished until her brush has touched it.”

The summer she could no longer see the seeds

What Imogene will miss most is the first hour of the day. Coffee on the windowsill. The sun coming over the mountains. A row of white jars waiting for their color.

Three years ago, her doctor told her she has macular degeneration. It blurs the middle of what she sees. For a while, a magnifying lamp helped. This summer, it stopped helping.

“I can see the jar. I can see the strawberry. But I can’t see the seeds anymore. And a strawberry without seeds isn’t a strawberry.”

There is no one to take over. Her daughter is a nurse in Knoxville. 173 jars are left on the shelf, across all five fruits. When they are gone, Imogene will switch off the kiln. Ruby’s brush will go to her granddaughter.

“We don’t paint for glass cases”

The old dishes from the Erwin pottery now sell in antique shops for $80, $120, sometimes $300. But they were never made for collectors. They were made for working families who counted every penny.

“Mama painted for kitchens, not for glass cases. I won’t price my last jars so high that they end up in a cabinet. I want sugar in them. Coffee. Tea bags.”

So she set a price that pays for the clay, the glaze and the firing, and not much more. Ruby’s rule, right to the last jar.

Imogene does not use a computer. Her grandson Wes, 26, does. When he visited in August, he saw the full shelf and asked what would happen to the jars. “The flea market, like always,” she said. That same evening he photographed every fruit on the workbench and built the page where you can order now.

“I told him I don’t touch computers. He said, ‘Grandma, you just have to say yes.’”

What people say about Imogene’s fruit jars

• ★★★★★

  “I opened the box and had to sit down. My mother kept her sugar in a jar with strawberries just like this one. It sits next to my coffee pot now, and I smile every single morning.”

  Patricia H., Kingsport, TN
• ★★★★★

  “Heavier than I expected and even prettier in person. You can really feel the blackberries. It holds more than it looks, too — a whole box of tea bags fit inside.”

  Sharon K., Asheboro, NC
• ★★★★★

  “Bought the lemon one for my daughter’s new kitchen and the strawberry one for myself. Then I went back for the apple. I think I need all five.”

  Linda G., Lexington, KY

Three questions people ask before ordering

Where can I buy one of Imogene’s fruit jars?

Only through this page. Imogene’s jars are not sold on Amazon, Temu or in any store.

How long will they be available?

Only while supplies last. Imogene has painted her last jar, and there are 173 left across all five fruits. Once a fruit is gone, it is gone for good.

What if it’s not right for me?

You have 30 days to try it at home. If you are not happy, just send a short email and you will get your money back. No questions, no hassle.

More from kitchens with one of Imogene’s jars

• ★★★★★

  “The lid sits down in the rim and doesn’t wobble, which matters to me. My tea bags finally have a home that isn’t a cardboard box.”

  Barbara T., Greenville, SC
• ★★★★★

  “Gave the persimmon jar to my sister for her birthday. She grew up with a persimmon tree, same as me. We both cried a little at the table.”

  Carol M., Rome, GA
• ★★★★★

  “Arrived very well packed, not a chip on it. The little apple on the lid is easy to grab, even with my arthritis.”

  Joyce W., Roanoke, VA