going once, going twice

Carl and I saw a notice for an estate auction one weekend. Farm implements and tools were advertised, so we figured we might get a garden rake for not much money, and auctions are kind of intriguing anyway. It's an interesting way to see what the people are like in a given area. Auctions are also a great illustration of capitalism at its best and worst. You can get fantastic deals at an auction, or you can end up paying a lot for something worthless. You can see people go from anticipation to excitement to jubilation to regret to buyer's remorse, and back.
My goal was to get a garden rake for our little garden patch, so I registered a number and looked around until I found a bunch of shovels, hoes, scythes and rakes in a barrel. I figured out which rake I was going to bid on, and went looking around for other interesting things. It seemed like it might have been a combined sale, because it looked like too much stuff to be one person's or even one family's estate. The auctioneer was moving down a giant row of items placed on the edge of a yard. Some of the items were on a flatbed trailer, and I was kind of surprised when all the items were sold from the trailer, the trailer itself went up for auction.
A little further down, I saw some thick foam pads in plastic bags. These were single mattress sized foam pads which were three or four inches thick, and they looked like they would have made very comfortable beds. Since we were sleeping on old World War I surplus bunk beds with ancient limp mattresses to match, it seemed like these would be a good thing to have. I was thinking about the value of the mattresses and what they might go for when suddenly, the auctioneer's assistant picked them up and the bidding started. I thought I'd bid maybe two dollars to start, and possibly go up to five. Or maybe six. Or maybe they'd be worth ten; they would probably be pretty comfortable. But they were used, so maybe they weren't really worth that much. So I decided I'd go up to eight dollars. And that's when I heard the auctioneer say "Sold! to the lady in yellow, number thirty six! Three dollars." I turned and saw a short heavyset middle aged woman with a yellow sweater trundling up to the auctioneer's assistant to get her new foam pads.
I was angry at myself, and somehow also at the woman who had won the auction. I normally liked to take my time and consider purchases to make sure I wasn't wasting money on something frivolous. This auction was going so fast, I'd lost out on who knows how many comfortable nights of sleep because of my measured consideration. I imagined myself carrying away those foam pads for only three dollars. But then I realized I would have paid at least four dollars for them, and who knows, maybe the woman really wanted them and was prepared to go up to fifteen. But still, I felt like she'd taken something from me.
I didn't want that to happen again, so I resolved to pay attention and be ready to act when the rake came up. There were a few other tempting items between the foam pads and the rakes, but I had to keep reminding myself that we were living in a cabin in the woods with no electricity or running water, and I'd be traveling after that, so it wasn't practical to buy anything that wasn't useful and easily left behind. A couple of shovels went up for auction from the barrel and they went for anywhere from two to twelve dollars. Then my rake was up and I bid a dollar right away. Some guy bid right after me, and we had a quick bidding battle and I ended up winning the rake for eight dollars. I was now a successful bidder and I felt pretty good to get the item I wanted. Then a scythe and a couple more shovels went on the block, and the shovels went for one dollar each, and I thought it would be nice to have an extra shovel, so I thought maybe I'd bid on one if another one came up. But I guess the auctioneer decided that all of the single garden tool people had been satisfied and he didn't want to bother with ten more one dollar tools, so the next item up was the rest of the tools in the barrel, and the barrel. The barrel and its contents went for six dollars. I felt like I had been cheated. I could have had a couple of shovels, a rake, a couple of hoes, a scythe and a barrel for two dollars less than I paid for a single rake. I tried to console myself that all I really needed was a rake, and I had gotten a good rake for less than a new one would have cost, but it still felt wrong. If you went into a store and had to chose between a rake for eight dollars, and a bunch of tools including a rake and a barrel for six, of course the barrel full of tools would be the rational choice, but I had no way of knowing how it would turn out when I was bidding on my eight dollar rake.

Carl was a winning bidder too. I think he paid sixteen dollars for an antique ratchet set. They were pretty cool, and they were in a great wooden box, but I didn't really understand why he got them. He also bought a folbot folding boat. He had showed it to me earlier and it was pretty cool too, but we already had a boat at the lake, so I wasn't sure about the utility of that purchase either. But then again, he was going to leave after a while, and travel around here and there, so having a folded boat on top of his old VW Beetle could come in handy. I don't remember how much he paid for it, maybe sixty dollars, which seemed like a lot to me when we were running low on money, but he was sure they were worth a lot more than that.
After the auction, Carl strapped the folbot to the top of the VW and we drove back towards the shack. We decided to stop for a beer at the country bar which is a couple of miles down the road from the shack. I think it used to be called Frogs. We were surprised to find they had Leinenkugel on tap for 50 cents a mug. When beer is so cheap, it's easy to drink a few, and that's what we did. We had mentally left the auction behind by then, so it was quite a surprise when a guy at the bar asked Carl how he'd gotten the boat back in his small car. It seemed like a Twilight Zone moment, until we realized that probably half the population of the county had been at the auction.
We chatted a bit with the bar patrons about the auction and they all described what they had won or almost won. Then we left, and I felt pretty buzzed, but Carl assured me he was okay to drive, and we weren't likely to meet any traffic anyway, so off we went. If I hadn't had those beers, I probably would have been a bit apprehensive as we sped down the gravel road at what seemed to be a comfortable margin over the safe speed, as usual.
When we got to the cabin, the sun was getting pretty low in the sky, but Carl wanted to try out the folbot. We sprayed on copious amounts of mosquito repellant, and after some trial and error, we got it assembled just as it was getting dark. I thought maybe we should wait until the next day to try it out in case it had a leak, but Carl was convinced it was in good condition, so we launched into the lake. It seemed a bit unstable at first, but I think it was just a different feel than the flat bottomed aluminum boat we were used to. The remarkable thing about it was how quiet it was. The aluminum boat would creak, water would slap against it and the metal pins of the oars would clatter and scrape. But the folbot came with a paddle, which could be quietly dipped into the water, and the tight fabric skin seemed to glide along the surface of the lake. We paddled up to the end of the lake as the sky got darker and darker. It was almost mystical. There seemed to be a slight mist rising from the lake and we heard no human sounds except our own breathing. It wasn't exactly quiet, there were frogs chirping in the background, and occasional small splashes as some fish or frog did whatever they do to make a splash.
The stars started to reveal themselves in the darkening sky, and the moon provided just a little bit of light. Suddenly, a loud yapping bark and howl cut into the seemingly peaceful night. It seemed pretty far away, but then it was answered by another which seemed a lot closer. It sent shivers down my spine. We hadn't said anything to each other in a while because we were enjoying the silence, but I whispered quietly, "Coyotes." The howling and yapping went on for a few minutes, then died down. I knew it wasn't anything to worry about, but the sound bursting into the relative quiet of the misty night made me wonder if maybe I shouldn't worry just a little bit.
We were at the head of the lake, and we started paddling up the creek that feeds it. It's a very swampy area, and the stream is kind of wide for a while, then it gets fairly narrow and snakes around in the swamp for few hundred yards until there is a beaver dam. We went almost all the way up to the beaver dam. There was barely enough room to turn the boat around, but by pushing into some reeds at the edge of the stream we were able to swing it around. A few yards from where we turned around, we noticed there was a little patch of grassy almost solid looking ground. We went over to have a look at it and see if maybe we could get out there and if the ground was solid enough, have a walk around. As the boat slid up to the grassy area, we could see the ground was pretty wet and muddy. Then I noticed in the mud at the waters edge, there were a bunch of animal tracks, which looked like large dog tracks. There were also a few tufts of fur. This looked like a place where coyotes came to drink water from the creek. And who knows what torn up animal the tufts of fur were from.
Suddenly a boat made out of fabric seemed like a fragile thing to be in, and I suggested it might be a good time to paddle back down the creek and back to the cabin. Carl agreed, and we quietly glided down the creek, out into the lake and back to the cabin.
It was a great experience to be out on the lake and see the stars, and hear the coyotes howl. But it also felt nice to get back into the cabin, shut the door, and light a few kerosene lamps.