The Man I Knew

The trucks, our combines, our toolbars, his favorite Cat tractor. All of it to be sold

- Wanda Rosseland, Circle, Montana

“Wanda,” rick said, his voice holding a note of warning as he shuffled papers on the table. “You know it rained last week?”

“Yes,” I said, fully aware of what the auctioneer was about to say.

“The auction sale up north was canceled because the road was so bad. They’ve rescheduled it for Saturday. This Saturday. Your sale day.”

October 1—five days away. I turned and looked out the window. All the decades of our labor were lined up in the pasture by the house: the tractors, trucks, combines, toolbars. Machinery that my husband, Milton, had used for more than 45 years to run our farm in eastern Montana. He had died of lung cancer six months earlier. Now everything had to be sold.

“A lot of buyers will go to that sale up north,” Rick continued. “I’m afraid we won’t have a very good turnout.”

I closed my eyes. If only I could run away and hide someplace instead of having to watch Milton’s tools and equipment going once, twice—gone! Not only would we have half the buyers, but wheat and calf prices in 2016 had fallen like a rock, resulting in much lower bidding at farm auctions. Rick knew this. He’d been watching it at every one of his sales that year. My children had even asked me if we should put off the auction until the next year because equipment was bringing in such poor money. But I couldn’t. The deal was made. Advertisements gone out. Posters put up. And who knew if it would be any better come spring?

The simple fact was I needed what that sale would bring. Not only to live on, since the income from our farm was now gone, but also to pay the myriad expenses that never quit. Taxes on the land. Insurance. Lawyers. The funeral. I’d never once thought of having to buy a tombstone.