My family and I went to an estate auction last weekend. Auctions are something I’ve always enjoyed. You can find all kinds of neat things at auctions from quilts, antique china and Tupperware to tools, lawnmowers and ugly lamps.
I went to this particular auction because the woman who used to live on the farm was a friend of my grandmother’s.
I remember going with her to their house when I was little. Returning to the farm brought back a flood of memories.
While the adults would sit beneath the huge shade trees in the front yard of the two-story white house, I would go to the field across from the house to pet the Shetland pony. I remember on several occasions being chased by a very protective goose that would not let me get near the pony. It would run across the field flapping its wings and squawking at me.
When I couldn’t pet the pony, I would resort to trying to be helpful by taking a basket to gather the eggs from the hen house. I remember hoping I wouldn’t find a rotten egg. If I did happen to find a rotten egg, I would always toss it into the field behind the hen house praying it wouldn’t explode. Nothing smells worse than a freshly busted rotten egg.
Last weekend was the first time I had been to the farm for many years, probably the first time since I reached adulthood.
As I stood in the front yard, I noticed those huge shade trees weren’t really all that big. It’s funny how big things look when you’re small.
The house was basically the same, only now it appeared tired and worn out.
At one time bright colored flowers grew in the yard. I noticed on the day of the auction there was only one bush with blooms on it and couldn’t help thinking that if the lady who had lived there was with us she would certainly be fussing at people who walked dangerously close to the bush when walking around the tent set up for the auction.
Beneath the tent were two wagons filled with items from the woman’s house and outbuildings, including a couple of ugly lamps.
I went to the auction not only to reminisce about days gone by, but I was also hoping I would find a momento or two that would remind me of her or of my grandmother. I was disappointed when I didn’t see anything that sparked a memory of them. I couldn’t remember ever seeing where the ugly lamps might have been in the house.
I stayed about a half hour, leaving before the auction even got under way.
I am thankful I had the opportunity to visit one last time. It was a neat trip back in time.
Gina Kinslow is a staff writer for the Daily Times. She can be contacted by e-mail at gkinslow@glasgowdailytimes .com.