By Marvin C. Hoffer

May 9,1994

Lewistown, Mont.

FARM AUCTIONS & OLD WOOD WORKING TOOLS

It was a bright, warm Spring day on the South Dakota Plains. Snow and blue geese were migrating North in flights of thousands over snow-clad prairie. A great day for a farm auction sale. Time has erased the name of the bachelor gentlemen whose multi-generation collection of farm equipment, materials, and tools was on the auction block. He had never married, had inherited a large farm, and loved his draft horses and somewhat antiquated equipment. My father-in-law, a gent of Norsk and German heritage, and I basked in the sun ricocheting off virgin snow so as to give us a sunburn, in April to boot. The creeks were running for the first time this Spring. Massive, gabbling flights of geese fluttered through the brilliant deep blue sky, with one purpose.

We intentionally arrived bout 3 hrs early to look over equipment, visit, partake of a free noon lunch spread in the ample farmhouse kitchen, and visit some more. Homemade pickles, sausage sandwiches, coffee, white cake, etc... a very traditional farm auction lunch. My kind of environment. The ladies kept the food a-coming and a-coming.

I was poking through gear in the big shop, part of the horse barn, when I spotted a large wood chest setting off by itself on a workbench. The light was mighty limited in there. A couple of old yellow bulbs trying to pierce the musty dark. You no doubt have been in places like that. The sight of the chest contents drove me to my knees in amazement, interest, and curiosity. It was loaded with hand tools fit for a king, or a national museum. Each piece was neatly fitted in its nitch. There was at least one of each kind of wood working tool you could wish for, plus a few I didn't know about. Ah, it was a sight. A wood carvers fantasy.

Rule One of going to farm auctions: Do Not Show Much Interest In The Item You Want To Buy! The logic, if any, is: If you show interest in a piece it will attract other bidder attention and drive up the price. So I marveled at a fast pace, and vowed to make my bid on the entire chest of tools. Much of the steel was made in England, Sheffield. Some in Norway, and others in Germany. This entire chest no doubt was made as a complete set in Europe or England sometime in the late 1800s or early 1900s. More art than tools.

Well, the day brought out my competition, those organized, and monied "antique collectors", both individuals and shops. Doggone it, I sure get my dander up a couple of notches when they roll in. One fellow came with a tilt-bed truck and a sack of greenbacks sufficient to choke a large goat or a gaggle of ducks. It looked grim. My money sack felt pretty slim, but I had plans. Ya gotta have plans, if ya ain't got cash.

The auctioneer got his tonsils oiled-up and began siphoning the crowd out of the barns, back 80, farmhouse, outhouse, and hustled us up around a hay rack upon which he perched himself and his book keeper. Book keeper was a traditional bank clerk, wire-rimmed glasses, itty-bitty, mousy-brown mustache (all he could muster I suspect), and a white shirt. We took off at a ripe-roaring pace as he sold everything in sight. Folks couldn't keep their hands down, or their body parts still, as he yelled "Sold!!" long before the crowd realized what they bought. Me? Well, I kept my hands in my pockets fingering that thin wallet, waiting for that chest of hand tools to be hauled to that hayrack. Discipline!! The more the better!

There they came with it. Two fellows, one with a big black beard, both dressed in stripped Osh-By-Gosh bib overalls and muddy overshoes. The auctioneer tore my dream in seventeen pieces when he said " Now folks, this here chest of antique hand tools was owned by Ollie's granddad, and she's all there. It's such a fine collection of English steel that it belongs in a museum. But to give you all a chance to get a tool or two, I'm gonna split this fine collection up, and sell it by the piece." It was criminal, and I grunted my dismay, and more. But, the auctioneer let her rip with "Who'll give me $20 for this brace? Who'll give me 20?" From there on, I almost lost it.

Wasn't long before the chest was empty, antique dealers had the best of the tools, and my skinny billfold was dry. I bid hard and fast. Got three, fine cherry wood planes, a hammer, spoke shave, and watched the satisfied faces of dealers grinning. Have to admit that my dream of buying that excellent chest of hand tools was just a wish from the beginning. But, at a minimum I felt then, and feel now, that it belonged in a museum. My museum. Ya, I would charge 50 cents a head to see them, but for you my friend, no charge. Might even let you run your finger over the edge of those Sheffield planes. Good steel. Quality. The best! Then, after it made the rounds amongst my family, we would put it in some Dakota museum for many to enjoy and marvel about.

All in all, it was one great day. My dad-in-law and I both got sunburned, had a great, free lunch, gabbed with a ton of folks, watched a zillion geese head North by North, and put some cash in circulation. Even got some rare tools, almost too nice to use. I've got a feeling that you have a couple of fine wood working tools on your shelf. Pride and joy of your shop no doubt. If you got time for a cup of coffee and want to make some wood shavings, stop on by. Won't cost you a dime. We could talk trade, or how big a wood curl that big cherry-wood block plane will make.

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