Going...going....

Gone.

The past weekend, the wife and I helped with an auction out in the middle of the cornfields. Now, we don't usually hang out in cornfields, but on this day, we were surrounded by some of the tallest corn I've ever seen. That's probably not saying much as there wasn't exactly a lot of corn growing on the streets of the industrial suburb of my youth. For all I know corn is supposed to be nine feet tall at the end of July. A few of the farmers mentioned how tall the corn was, so it must've been at least semi-impressive.

Here's a photo of said corn. I found a strong urge to take photos of the corn. Perhaps it was seeing cobs on the stalk that intrigued me, even more than the height of the stalks.

They are called stalks, aren't they?

It was really talk, really green and really powerful looking. I don't know how corn can look powerful, but it did. It was rather amazing. I even took selfies in front of the corn.

Back to why we were standing in a place surrounded by corn. We didn't exactly decide, "hey, let's hang out in cornfields today." We had a mission.

Our friend was in the midst of having her family home auctioned off to the highest bidder. Being from the Chicago suburbs many a decade ago, I was unfamiliar with the idea that one would auction off anything, let alone a house. It was so foreign of a concept to me that I really didn't grasp the idea until I actually witnessed the process. I've heard of auctioning off houses that had gone into foreclosure, but never an auction "on purpose."

For the record, I would bet dollars to donuts that watching your childhood home--the only home you've ever known--be auctioned off would suck.

Suck royally.

Not only did she watch her house be auctioned off, she watched every item from in that house get sold. From furniture to cleaning supplies, it was up for grabs, often for ridiculously low prices.

It bothered me. A lot. If it bothered me, I can't imagine what she felt.

Just because this is a foreign concept to me does not mean it is a foreign concept at all; in fact, everyone at the auction seemed quite used to the approach. Some people have garage sales... some people use eBay.... some people have auctions.

In the midst of the pre-auction waiting (I was supposed to be guarding the Precious Moments collection), I found a lot of cool things; for instance, this canister set took me right back to the 1970's. I'm sure my mom will recall owning this canister set, complete with mushroom salt and pepper shakers, in the days of Bread, The Carpenters and Blood, Sweat and Tears. I do believe she had the mushroom clock hanging over the kitchen sink.

I wanted to bid on these not because I actually wanted them but because of nostalgia. I have to say, nostalgia is a very powerful thing. Thankfully, I was slapped back into the 21st century when I realized the wife would not have let me bring these in the house. Who can blame her?

It would have been fun for the Christmas White Elephant, though.

I loved the 'old' stuff. I don't know what qualifies as antique, so I'm going to call it "old," no offense to actual antiques. I loved the tarnished silver this-or-that, the history of found on the covers of old newspapers, the trinkets that must have filled the drawers. I was stunned to find an old key chain that had the name of my childhood town on it; after all, we were NOWHERE near the place of my youth. I mean, why was there a car wash key chain from Franklin Park in the middle of a corn field? I wanted to buy that but then I remembered the wife's words to take photos instead of buying items. So boring but true.

I didn't end up bidding on anything. I left the auction so I could go do a scheduled baptism. (Yes, I do baptisms. I'm branching out.) I left behind the wife and the corn without nary a raise of an auction number (no paddles-- just card stock with large numbers).

I've never seen so many farmers in one place at the same time. How do I know they were farmers? They were all wearing pants despite the 90 degree heat. I've decided that farmers do not own shorts.

The farmers were very nice. Friendly. Older than not. I didn't see any young farmers. I take that as a bad sign. Maybe the young farmers were out tending the tall corn.

This newspaper is from 1872. Wow! That's 100 years older than the mushroom canister set. Oh, how I wanted to bid on this. No reason--I just thought it was amazingly cool to see something from 1872. (Click on the photo if you want to see the details on the newspaper.)

In the end, the house, land and belongings sold for less than I would have thought...which is a weird statement, as I have no idea how much things should actually sell for in the middle of what this city slicker would call "the middle of nowhere." I would assume our friend sobbed at the end of the auction. I know I would have. Selling something is one thing but, like I said, watching everything fade away in front of you seems like a whole 'nother thing.

In the end, I have my photos of old newspapers, key chains and corn. I have my chuckles over the key chain and the corn. Our friend has photos and a few trinkets. She certainly has memories. Lots of memories. Lots of happy childhood memories. Lots of growing up on a farm stories. But, having to watch your home become a thing auctioned off to a stranger? I can't imagine that makes for a very happy memory.

For that reason, I am sending her happy thoughts for the rest of the week. I hope you will, too. Send out a happy shout to the universe in her honor. If nothing else, please think of her when you eat your next serving of corn on the cob. I know the farmers and our friend would appreciate it.