It’s been more than two years since my maternal grandmother passed away. We all expected it – she lived to be nearly 101 – but her death still shook  my mother’s family. The estate, which mostly encompasses an 88-acre former farm in western Pennsylvania, is still being deliberated

My memories of Kenemuth Farm are legion. A suburban kid, I nonetheless spent large portions of my childhood summers in Clarion County’s  countryside, tromping through muddy woods and searching for  frogs and crayfish down in the creek that runs through the property. Both of my parents grew up in the area, and I used to beg for stories about their early years and courtship: Family lore lurked around nearly every corner.

My grandmother entered a local nursing home years before her death, yet the home and farm laid fallow as no one wanted to make decisions that might upset her. Finally this summer, my mother and her brother, my uncle who also lives in the Washington DC area, took a big step forward. They cleaned out the house and decided to hold an auction to clear out all the decades of stuff that my packrat grandmother had accumulated. I told my parents that Don and I would come for moral support.

Little did I know it would be me that needed the support. When I pulled up to the farm at 8 a.m., through a morning mist that never really stopped, strangers were already on the property, assessing a lifetime of possessions. On the front table, I saw a box filled with odds and ends, including two salt shakers shaped like the RCA dog Nipper that I had played with as a child. I teared up immediately, and had to walk around to the back of the house to compose myself.

I know my mom felt the same way. She went into the house with her coffee and didn’t come back until the auction was well underway. I busied myself by plotting my purchases. I decided my big purchase would be an small high-backed wood rocking chair on casters – although the upholostery was shot, I could easily fix it up with the help of a furniture restoration expert. But I wasn’t the only one eyeing the rocker. As one man gave the chair a tentative push, I placed myself nearby. “I remember grandmother rocking me to sleep,” I said to my husband (although I recalled no such thing). “That chair has such good memories.” Shameless, right? For what it’s worth, the man did walk away. 

Shortly after 9 a.m., the auction got underway. Auctioneer Todd Beichner acted just as you might expect one to act – he talked so fast that it was hard to understand what exactly he was saying. “AboxofcostumejewelrywowthatsurelooksprettyladieswegottenwegottententennowfivefivefivefivedoIheartwotwotwooneoneone – SOLD, for $1!” Once I figured out the speed, I sat in my lawn chair, tense. I wanted to make sure that I didn’t miss my chance to buy the few things that, for me, had mostly sentimental value.    

In the end, Don and I bought four items: the rocking chair, the box containing the Nipper salt shakers, a glass candy dish that used to sit on my grandmother’s buffet and a large metal milk can that my husband fell in love with. It was surprising what the audience chose to bid on – a sideboard garnered no bids, while old license plates that had been stuck on the garage walls since, oh I don’t know, the Second World War, went for $50. My uncle and aunt were the most active bidders. Not only did they buy my grandmother’s iron bed for my cousin’s new house, my aunt couldn’t resist an old rusted cultivator and pulley system – which she later resold to auction latecomers.

As the auction was going on, we noticed a group of men – all wearing worn caps, many wearing camoflauge jackets – hanging out by the garage. They were there for the big ticket item, a Ford tractor that my grandfather had used on the fields back when the family was raising corn. The auctioneer had told my parents that the tractor could go as high as $2,500, which easily made it the sale’s most valuable item.

Alas, the crowd wasn’t in a spendy mood. Although the auctioneer did his best to drum up attention and drive up the price, the cagey crowd held on to their cash. In the end, the tractor went for $1,600 – much less than anticipated. You really can’t blame them: Clarion County is a poor place, where times were tough even before the Great Recession. I would bet that most of the items at the auction went for $5 and under.

The whole experience did make me think about what possessions really mean. I’ve long taken the view that spending money on things isn’t as meaningful as using it for experiences – at least for me. I’d rather have the memories associated with fabulous trips instead of fancy furniture. As it is, Don and I have way too much stuff, as a basement full of boxes attests. I don’t want my life to be caught up in items that could end up in a box with a $1 tag on it.