A Good Old Country Farm Auction…


If you have never been to one, you don’t know what you are missing.  Among my family’s favorite past times, is auction going.  We can’t keep ourselves away, if one is near.

It began this way:

Brother:  Did you see the Auction Bill for the two-day one over on Casey Road?

Mom:  There’s an auction on Casey Road?  Who’s having it?

Brother:  The Kings.  They’ve just got a bunch of junk.

Mom:  If the guys start that horse, and we go to the races, that will keep us away.  Let me see what they have.

Brother:  Red wing crocks, antique guns, framed Owen Gromme prints, enamel ware, a bunch of vintage cars that are pieces of…(well, you get the idea.)

Mom:  Where are the pictures?  Let me see the pictures.  Oh, I’d like to look at the cupboard.  Maybe we won’t go to the races.

Dad:  Show me the pictures of the guns.

The horse wasn’t started, and we didn’t go to the races.  We went to the auction.  Surprise!  I thought it was awesome, as I never go to auctions anywhere else.  I wish you could have seen it.  There were two auctioneers.  There was a food trailer with brats for sale.  There was a port-a-potty.   There were bunches of people.  There were rows and rows of flatbed trailers filled with “things.”  There were tables and tables of “things.”  There were bags and bags of bed linens.  There were pallets of old Tonka-type toys.  There was a barn of furniture, stacks of chairs, piles of lumber, shop lights, and the fluorescent bulbs to go with them.  There was a field of the old cars, fifteen or sixteen of them, including an Edsel for Lord’s sake.  There were that many farm implements.  Hoo-boy.

I am on a spending diet, but it was so easy to see how a person could get carried away at an auction.  I didn’t even bother getting a bidding number, and good thing, too.  Boxes of the enamel ware went for $5.  Someone got a wooden wagon with a plastic bin of dog food (eww, I know) for $2.  Entire sets of vintage-patterned dishes in three boxes went for less than $10.  I mean some things were so CHEAP!  And it was just a few bucks, right?  My heart pumped as the bids were made on items I wouldn’t even take to Goodwill; much less bring back to North Carolina.

There were some coveted items, however.  I chose three things that I would consider bidding on, gave Mom my top limit, and stood by nervously.  The only yellow enamel ware there went for $30 before I could exhale.   The brass school-type bell went for $25, almost before I knew it was the bid item.  Now my glass tabletop butter churn with a wooden paddle was held up in the air…the bid was $50…no one.  Down to $10, did he hear $15?  Now $20, was there a $20?  Twenty-five?  Thirty?  Who would give him $30, and it kept going, with Mom doing her nodding, and then my limit…$50.  Was I out?  Yes, but at $60, I poked her and nodded, she nodded, and it was mine!  Score!

Whew.  My heart is pounding just writing about it.  I can see why auctions are addictive, why people come home with truckfuls of stuff they don’t know what to do with, and why they go back and do it again the next time.  I guess that is why this auction was being held in the first place.  It wouldn’t be a bad way to go, giving people that rush and making some money at the same time.

Brother:  Did you hear they are having another auction in Edgerton on July 25?

Me:  I’m gone back to North Carolina then.


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