They were fascinating to watch - these two guys who have been around the block a time or time-and-a-half, yet could still leap up onto tractor seats as if they were teenagers. And leap they did, time after time at the auctioneer's request, to start up the antique tractors and other farm machinery with engines that needed to be started to prove to the crowd of prospective buyers that the equipment worked.
The auctioneer, a seasoned gentleman who has seen lots of seasons, was a burly sort of fellow, kind of like the wagon-master character Ward Bond played in the old television series, "Wagon Train". He was a straight-shooting, dryly humorous Republican-who-told-it-like-he-sees-it, and clearly very good at what he does. He and his team, which included auction wranglers, a trailer specifically for registering and paying, and a food wagon, were a finely-tuned operation. The auctioneer and his assistant were perched atop a pickup bed, in a specially made camper-top that had open windows on all sides and a public address system that worked consistently - unlike other, much more expensive systems in public places.
The crowd - mostly men - was attired, for the most part, in jeans and work-type shirts, with a few chinos and dress shirts thrown in. There were some women, a few children from time to time, and one darling puppy, who - as far as I was concerned - was the star of the whole day! Most of the vehicles parked were of the working, heavy-duty-pick-up type, many of which were pulling large trailers, capable of hauling away tractors and other large equipment. These guys came to buy, and buy they did, although as a group, I thought they were a cagey lot who kept the prices low and came away with mostly "steal-type" deals.
Because it had been a very long time since I had been at a sale of this type, I had forgotten about the flow of an auction. Start with the junque, the small stuff, then move progressively through the rest, saving the more expensive items for last. Few people left as the hours progressed, as I guess most present knew the drill and what to expect. Mother Nature, for her part, did a magnificent job, keeping the sun out, a pleasant breeze going, the bees to a minimum, and the ground bone dry so that grass was not destroyed as people tramped over it and wheels bearing thousands of pounds rolled across it.
The equipment, save for a few pieces of advertised "non-working" status, was washed, polished, spit-shined, gassed and tuned up, ready to start at a moment's notice. Only two vehicles, an old International and a Model T, voiced any displeasure at being asked to perform their start-up routine. But, after a bit of coaxing, start-up they did and proved they could still muster their cylinders to get the job done.
While the sale probably cleared out three or four barns, in two different locations, and could be deemed a success on a certain level, it had to be poignant for the two sellers, to say the least. Equipment that had long-term emotional ties was sold. Equipment that these two once rode on as kids, working family farms, will now reside at other farms.
Chapters closed so others can open. Is that not the way life works?
Ancora imparo
