Entertainment: Farm style

I admit I should be working on something. Well, I guess I really am, because I just put a bowl in the micro to dye. 'Flower' is the color; a mix of orange and reds. And I should start some supper soon, as we are both hungry after our adventurous day out.  Where?  A few may wonder, and appropriately so, since that this the subject and purpose of this post.

We went to a farm sale.

Yeah, for most, it doesn't sound like much for entertainment. But it did have a number of things going for it. Foremost that its predecessor of a few weeks ago was a positive experience. (We made a really good haul at that one.) Plus, its June 1. No heat for sure. In fact, both of us left feeling a little over dressed for the season, but certainly not the weather. The cold wind out of the northwest and occasional drizzle made the heavy jackets and hats welcome gear. Still, there was no snow on the ground either.

Scheduled to begin at 10:00, the sheep got sent to pasture early, and shorted for time a bit, and still the auctioneers cry was heard from down the road by the time we arrived. We trudged up the road toward the buildings and sound with a few other straggling late comers, and were a little surprised at the possibly sparse crowd huddled in the farm yard.

A side note here.  Farm sales have always been perceived as almost a right of passage to those growing up in farm country. Akin, and often connected to funerals, they long have served as a gathering place for family, friends and neighbors to share memories and memorabilia collected throughout the life of the residents. In keeping with the frugality of farmers, little is passed up form being offered to those in attendance. Actual value or usefulness is a judgment left to the buyer.

The neatly kept house was old and never considered more than modestly adequate. The sale bill had stated it clearly - the couple had both passed, and the family had decided it was time to disperse the belongings. I however, noticed a few details. The carefully placed benches outside the yard gate. (Of course the yard was fenced.) The scattered rose bushes, most in full bloom, waving greetings from beyond to whomever would take time to notice. I did. They were red, and pink, and one glorious yellow. Yes, they are lovely this year, Mrs. Divis.

Don was getting a number while I watched. We surveyed the lines of equipment. A couple tractors, including one shop-made tractor. They said it was made by one of the sons, and won first place at the 1966 State Fair.  Hay rakes, trailers, mowers (I counted 5), elevators, assorted field equipment, and piles of used tires and lumber circled the farmyard. We made our way to the primary objective of the day - the fencing. The panels were not exciting. The rolls of wire held a little more promise.

The long line of tables heaped with the expected not- so-goods from the household sparked my interest. A box of ladies hats. Unused quilt bats, and wool at that. A few interesting pictures and/or frames. Wool cards.  (That was unexpected). I claimed the buyers number, and joined the few standing close to the auctioneer. Don joined the group hovering around the hay rack where the hand tools were twice the age of their  new owners.

I was just in time. A box of trinkets and macrame hangers got no bids, so another box was added. Then another. Oh no - they added the glassware I had my eye on. I hate when they do that. I bid anyway, and for $2.00 the 5 boxes were mine. A lady swooped in behind me as I shoved them further down the table.

"What were you after?" she boldly asked. "All I really wanted was the glassware," I replied. "Is there something you'd like?"

"Give you $2.00 for one of those wind chimes."  "Sold."  Actually, I let her have 2. The macrrame plant hangers 'accidentally' got moved over into the growing pile of a fellow buyer.

Moveing on down the line, I passed on a few things I really didn't need. Then the picture. It was an old print of a farmstead. The color was still good, and the frame was nice. What! They were already making a pile, and it was on top. Oh well, I could use the two little shelves. But stop already!  I bid. I got it. I added the lot to my pile. Don was watching. I knew he was taking deep breaths.

I stopped the auctioneer short when he added the wool cards to an old radio. "I'll bid on the cards alone!"  But others did too. But I won. I carried them back proudly to show my fellow shepherd.

"Did you buy that last lot for the shelving?"  It was the rival bidder on the cards.  "No, I only wanted the picture."  She picked it up. "This one?" I nodded. "Would you sell me the little shelves?"  I gazed at them thoughtfully.  "I'll give you $25.00."  "Well.... ok," I replied, trying not to appear too eager. She only had $23.00 cash. Close enough I said, before she could back out. But there were two men close behind.

"I wanted the magazines," one exclaimed. "Me too" said the other. I looked expectantly at both in turn.  "I'll give you $5.00" the right one said, and I looked to the left. "Six".  He won the bid.

Don shook his head, and returned to the equipment line.

And the fun continued. Then there was a lull in the action while they sold items of now interest to us. The fence panels brought way too much for interest. Don did get some rolls of wire, one old but still in the roll. Toward the last, our concern turned to what items would still fit in the van. I ended the bidding with an $8.00 purchase of two metal cabinets. Problem. But, I knew the guy who had bid against me. Yup. I sold him one for $4.00. The better white one slipped in over the wire, and the van door closed.

At home, I helped unpack my goods. Don got over $200. worth of wire (new price), for less than $50.00. He did well.

I got:  several glass pans and bowls for dyeing: with that purchase was:  a nice old set of salt and pepper shakers - with the red lids, but the fancy kind; an old egg timer like my Mother had, that still works; 2 old candy thermometers; a nice little nick-nack cabinet; a very nice cake plate, and possibly more.  I got a large 'original oil painting'. - well the frame was worth the dollar. A nice framed mirror with etched glass; 7 oak frames from Olan Mills, still in the boxes; and a couple other large picture frames. The wool cards, AND two wool quilt batts. Plus, a small white metal cabinet, and $35.00 in cash.

Farm sales used to be work. With Don working, finding time just to go was a major chore. Suddenly, its different. Interesting that this sale so closely follows the last couple weeks of sorting off junk and cast offs, filling the dumpster that occupied the driveway. It was intended to clear room for the construction of the cool room, but we found ourselves saying "we'll do this now, to spare the kids later." No. I won't let it become an obsession. But it was fun.

Maybe this retirement job has a few unexpected rewards along the way.

But now its back to business. The Sheep and Wool Festival is next weekend. I have goods to package, fleeces to select. Classes to plan for, and materials to gather. The sheep (as yet unselected, but I voted for the smaller lambs this year. Enough with the rams.) are to pay their visit to the vet for health papers Tues. Much to be done.

But, the rain has been good. The grass keeps growing. The peas grow by inches each day. Summer begins. And out by my own yard gate, the roses are about to bloom. I think they will be lovely this year.

We fall down, we get up......

Well, we do. Or at least we always have so far. But not if you are a leaf. And the leaves are falling. Down, for the most part. Except for the occasional passing corn leaf. The windy days of late have heralded the coming of the harvest season now in full swing. The corn stalks that seemed to turn white over night this year have shed their leaves, and now stand naked except for the sagging heavy ears, shivering in the foggy chill or the morning. The leaves blanket the ground now. Except for now and then in the afternoon breeze, when, dried by the weakening sun, a current picks a stray leaf and hurls it toward an unknown foe. I see them pass my window, sometimes arrow straight, sometimes curling and whirling, tumbling in the driving wind. And later I retrieve them from the shrubs and fence, limp and heavy with dew once again come morning. And time marks off yet another day, and week, and month.


We have begun the preparations. The garden is done, the harvest sorted, stacked, and stored. A good size stack of wood now darkens part of the view out my window. Chimney checked? Check. The wagon is filled with corn, and the hay bales stand in covered rows like giant sausages.
I looked up this morning, and it was October. 16th. (sigh). The almost-too-warm days are over. The 'F' word has been heard in the forecast. (freeze). But that's ok. I guess. The second blanket was pulled up without hesitation last night, and savored.

Don even took some 'vacation'. Yeah sure. Last year we actually went somewhere. This year, it was back to a working vacation. But we did get some things done, including renting a bobcat, and an attempt to clean the barn. It was only partially successful, but whats done is done. Since the grass is still growing and the crops in the field, the excavations got piled for the time being.



The lambs had a great time playing atop 'Mt. Sheepoopee' while it was there. But it was clear it was not going to last, so it got moved to the other pile. Sorry, lambs.
The whole mess will hopefully be spread on the garden, pasture, and fields before winter really sets in. (Sorry about the evil eyes. I'm blaming the lighting.)

Meanwhile, the sure sign of the season have been spotted. My mate and partner is usually quiet, often dozing in his chair. Recently however, he has been overtaken by spurts of thoughts and inspirations. His clipboard is at hand, and often I notice him flipping between pages, and making notes in margins. Why? You may wonder, as did I.

Of course - its breeding season. And one mark of a true shepherd is the careful selection of pairings of the flock. The amateur little realizes the complexity of the task. There is much to consider. Body type, condition, color, lineage, fleece and more. There must be planning before procreation.




And the sun sets sooooo much earlier these days. But its still kind of nice watching it.





And the last rose of summer literally blooms by the back gate.

But all is well. The promises of spring are hidden in the muffled shuffle of leaves underfoot, but if you pause and listen, you can hear them. The thoughts of a warm fire and wool sweaters, the gentle click of knitting needles and snow falling on yet green grass may materialize sooner than we think. But bring it on. Seasons change, and so must we. I'm up for a long winters nap. Meanwhile, I can still smell the roses.

And if by chance like the leaves we fall, we'll help each other up.