THE CLEARING SALE

THE CLEARING SALE

“What am I bid?  Who’ll give me $20?..$10?…$5?  Thank you and SOLD to number….sorry madam, you need to be quicker,” rattled the auctioneer.  I was the ‘madam’ who needed to be quicker.  I didn’t fare much better on the next few items I bid on, so decided instead to play spectator and enjoy the day. 

We saw the ad in the local paper and were drawn to a few lots of “dry jarrah beams” of various sizes.  My husband is building an extension and had been horrified at the price for the timber beams we wanted for the ceiling, This seemed to be an answer.  We set off early, our trusty trailer in tow and our fingers crossed. 

The auction was held at a rural smallholding.  All activity centred in and around a huge green shed, standing solidly in the middle of an ochre gravel setting, beside the stone house.  People milled and dribbled down the driveway like colourful ants discovering a picnic, moving from one lot to another, sizing it up and deciding what treasures they’d take home.  The jarrah timber sat in piles outside the shed.  It was recycled and bore its nails bravely like a seasoned boxer, lying strong and heavy on the ground.  We sized up the lot we wanted, measuring and calculating while keeping a watchful eye out for ‘competition’.  Then we wandered off to check out the wares on offer.

What an eclectic mix of goods for sale.  Looking at them one couldn’t help but wonder about their owners and their life journeys, then why every area of their lives was being discarded so completely. Their love of surfing was present everywhere, from old surfing memorabilia, books and magazines, life-sized Billabong direction signs, wax-worn surfboards and a very ‘collectable’ burnt-umber Malibu board with cut-out skeg.  The recurring ocean theme included boating accessories, sails and a humdinger of an anchor, fishing rods of all sizes and lengths, sinkers and tackle boxes.  There was lifestyle camping equipment to sleep an army – tents of different shapes and sizes, comfy canvas chairs, metal and enamel cookware, barbeques, gas bottles big and small.  There were lazy garden recliners and a murky cream market umbrella ready to shade a dusty glass-topped patio table and chairs.  Men and their sheds was a recurring theme. The huge aircraft hangar shed floor was filled with piles of ‘boys toys’.  These ranged from ladders (not just one but four ladders- different colours, metal and wooden, large and small) to chainsaw, welder, sledgehammers, spanners and screwdrivers with associated nuts, bolts, nails and screws.  There were computers propped in boxes, digital cameras (which must have seen it all), television, washing machine and vacuum cleaner.  Every item lay there, cold and bare, for inspection. 
The rusty old tractor under the trees lent a forgotten air to the farming items while the newer interests were also up for grabs. Two shiny motorbikes attracted lively interest as prospective buyers straddled them as they roared their intentions throatily into the hot air. 

HE was certainly giving up everything, and I mean everything!  Even his income-stream would walk out the door as mountainous piles of plastic conduit and hundreds of reels of electrical cable, thick and thin, sat waiting for new owners.  But what of HER?  Where were this woman’s personal and professional effects? I looked everywhere for a shadow of her personality.  I found only general household appliances and one forlorn box of old linen and frilly cushions.  Was this how they had lived their lives?  Was it really such an uneven partnership or was she still clinging to her ‘old identity’, unwilling to move on?

The auctioneer’s voice rang out again and again and I wondered whether he would have any left when he got home that night, having used a strong shout all day.  He worked them hard and seemed on their side all the way, coaxing and cajoling the dollars from deep pockets to turn the circus into business.  We laughed with him as he poked fun at himself and the goods, then willingly someone would agree to part with a ‘tenner for two’ or a ‘fifty’ here and there.  The oppressive heat picked up and sweat coursed its way down my back, or was that just how it felt bidding that day?  Bang! went the gavel again and again on the paper auction catalogue in his hands as he led the bidders like the Pied Piper around the bidding course. 

“He’s going sailing…getting rid of everything…That’s what he wants…”   Snippets of gossip only fuelled my speculation.  What was it?  Was it retirement, a sea change or relationship issues which had led to this complete obliteration of the past? 

A thought then struck me. Maybe this was not an ending but a ‘returning’; choosing to turn back to that simplicity and freedom of the surfing years – just him, her and the sea.  Maybe this was a rebirth in the full circle of life – a true ‘clearing out’, a turning of the tide.  Maybe they were still seeking that perfect wave.

3 Comments

  1. I love the way the “search” reverses itself in this piece. We spend so many years looking for the “perfect wave” in stuff… and then… in the shedding. You showed this so beautifully. Thank you.

  2. I’ve never been to a real auction in person before. I’ve only seen them on tv or in movies. How exciting to read what you wrote!

  3. I love this idea of yours, that there is a whole story behind the auction and the items being sold. I have only been to auctions where the belongings of a person who has died are being sold. All of his things told his story.

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