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Auctions: Woven into the fabric of agriculture
The word "agriculture" has split meanings of "business" and "culture." It is not hard to grasp how they co-exist, especially if you live in a community that is dominated by farming or ranching. To complete the circle from planting the seed or breeding the cow, there must be use or sale of the crop or the calf. In cultures that predate our American ancestry, the open outcry auction has shown to be the best way to accomplish this task. It is also a way to have the social interaction needed to pull the community together. My first memory of an auction was the sound. It was the chant of the auctioneer that held the attention of the small group of farmers who gathered close to the wagon to see what would be selected and held in view. The words of the crier came so fast and furious that they almost had to be decoded before they could be understood. The visual aspect was even more difficult as some buyers did not want anyone but the auctioneer to know they were bidding. This confused me until the pattern of chanting and bidding began to emerge. Finally the auctioneer would yell "sold" and call out the name or the number of the winning bidder. It was recorded by the clerk as attention turned to the next lot and the process was repeated. Outside the auction circle was another complexity of rural life. Food was prepared and sold to those who attended, some for strictly social reasons. Men and women greeted one another and engaged in conversations that ranged from the weather to pure gossip. There was a lot of laughter and smiling as if it were in short supply at home and these hardworking people needed to get together for it to come forth. For a few hours, as the farming tools and household goods were transferred to their new owners, the community took a break from the routine and drudgery of life to enjoy one another's company. Sometimes the sale would include the land, and the entire crowd would go silent as the auctioneer eloquently described the property and the wonderful family that had farmed it for many years. He would give a reason as to why they were selling out, as one spouse had died or they had decided to retire and live in town. There was great seriousness in the air as he would take bids and stop multiple times before the sale was completed so that the prospective buyers and the lenders could grasp the figure it might take to own this property. When the sale was made, the community recalibrated the value of their own property. This knowledge seemed to bring equilibrium to the business of farming, while the friendly conversations brought social well-being to the community. Livestock sales have the same social and business experience and are held regularly at an easily accessible location. Cattle, hogs, sheep and goats come in from those with small herds and the auctioneer coaxes the buyers to the highest level possible as the confused animal is paraded in the ring. As a reporter, I arrived for a cattle sale a few minutes early. My recorder and camera in hand, I wondered why no one was sitting in the nice seats just a few feet away from the auction ring. When the first heifer came in and whirled around, the question was answered as a green mist came from her hinder parts and coated me and my equipment. I made my way back several rows as a kind man handed me a paper towel and said: "It's just sunshine and rain water!" as I wiped and scraped away the residue. We now live in an era when we can buy about anything with one click of the computer. We can use a phone from anywhere and we can read of sales with an accurate description of the items and prices. Still, human interaction is needed to realign and refuel our being. I understand why my ancestors went to town on Saturday to buy their supplies and socially engage. Society clearly needs reinforcement to maintain its structure. I happened by a livestock sale last Saturday and sat down outside the splatter zone to listen to the auctioneer and watch the animals go through. They had a small run so the larger lots of quality sheep and goats were already sold. Friendships were renewed and new acquaintances were made as the auctioneer and the parade of animals entertained us. A pot-bellied pig, looking like a bowling ball with legs, brought seven dollars. A horse who had seen his best days years ago ambled through. The auctioneer assured us he was a thoroughbred with a pedigree that went back to Secretariat. He finally sold for 70 dollars. A buyer leaned over and said that folks lock their empty trailers when they come to these sales as they don't want to find several horses in them when they get ready to go home. We talked about a Canadian fishing trip that one of the auction workers had taken and began exaggerating about his adventures. It was a wonderful distraction from life and a time to recalibrate my value of old horses and potbellied pigs. It also allowed me to realize that human kindness and friendship are waiting to be embraced and enjoyed and their value can't be assigned by an auction. Editor's note: Ken Root is an independent agricultural journalist. He was named the 2009 Farm Broadcaster of the Year and was the 2008 winner of the Oscar in Agriculture. He is an Oklahoma native and an experienced print, radio and television journalist. He has spent the last five years as Lead Farm Broadcaster at WHO Radio in¬ Des Moines, Iowa. He and his wife Gail have two adult children and two grandchildren.
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