Visitors entering the Lowe’s parking lot from Ninth Street inevitably slow to a crawl as they pass by New York Old Iron. Even along the Gowanus Canal in Brooklyn, you don’t expect to see this.

Propped up against a chain-link fence is a row of cathedral-size wooden doors. Just past them, a gathering of undressed mannequins preside over mounds of scrap iron. As the F and G trains rumble overhead, sunlight glints off boxy tin letters heaped in a pile. A cat scampers by a forgotten restaurant-supply company’s billboard, which hangs above a row of reclaimed pedestal sinks.

Here, in a borough where curating is a way of life, shoppers are offered the rare opportunity to rummage through the unedited castoff past.

“This is recreational,” said Vincent Galantino, 72, who traveled from Queens on a recent Saturday to puzzle over a waist-high wrought-iron gate. “It’s addictive.” He stumbled upon Roy Vaccaro’s salvage yard on a trip to Lowe’s. Mr. Galantino, who was with a couple of friends, Ouida Ffrench and Angelo Illuzzi, 57, were comparing weathered windows that had paint chipping off. “Is it solid — not falling apart?” Mr. Illuzzi asked Ms. Ffrench, who was looking to accent her garden.