Who's been to an auction? Three guesses

Okay, no guesses. I went to see the final sale of goods manufactured at our century-old pottery, the Maple City Western Stoneware factory. According to one source, the pottery would have been precisely one hundred years old on the 6th of April (the anniversary of the first day of production), but it closed its doors a little over a week before it could have its party. The staff continued filling the final special orders for commemorative pitchers and miniatures before shutting down completely.

So, with a century of local history in mind, I made my way downtown, to Monmouth's Central Park (aka the center of the Square). They had barricaded the streets feeding into the Square, so the only vehicle traffic was that of the various swap meet and auction personnel. I walked the whole half block from the public parking lot, and took a look around.

If you're a regular auction attendee, you get to know a few familiar faces, and this time was no exception. I met up with all the local regulars,

and a few local characters I've only recently come to know. But the real treat was looking over the pieces of history
displayed on the
hayracks beneath the trees, this blustery afternoon.

Much of the old and rare stuff sold was far beyond my mortal means of acquisition, and, yet, went for obscenely low prices. For example, the commemorative piece designed expressly for this sale -- a completely unique piece

(the big tall puppy in the center) -- was valued at roughly $700- $1,000. Somebody got it for under $400.

I approached the racks with trepidation, but fell in instant love with one lonely vase: Even from afar, I knew I had to have that turquoise piece in the middle. He just came alive for me.

He was coming home with me. I was bound and determined.

He sold for more cash than I had seen in the past month.

I bought a nifty tankard instead.

It cost me all of a dollar.