Thursdays at the Sale Barn

By Mark Morgan

There was a time when Thursday was more than just another day of the week.

Down in Waldron, Arkansas, Thursday meant cattle sale day.

At 11:00 in the morning, the Scott County Livestock Auction would get underway, and if you wanted to see some real country entertainment, that was the place to be.

I remember going to the sale barn with my grandpa.

Now, a sale barn wasn't exactly what you'd call a fancy establishment. There weren't any velvet seats, and the smell wasn't something you'd find in a bottle of expensive cologne.

But it was a place where a man could buy a cow, catch up on the news, and learn a thing or two without ever opening a schoolbook.

There'd be farmers in cowboy hats, boots that had seen plenty of mud, and men studying cattle like they were trying to solve a mystery.

Then there was the auctioneer.

Lord have mercy, that fellow could talk.

He'd get going so fast I couldn't tell whether he was selling a cow or announcing the end of the world.

And somehow, right in the middle of all that racket, somebody would raise a finger, nod his head, or barely move his hand.

And just like that, the price went up.

I figured a fellow ought to be careful scratching his nose in that place. You might come home owning something with four legs.

But what interested me most wasn't always the cattle.

It was watching the older men.

Grandpa knew that buying a cow was more than just finding one that looked good walking through the ring.

There was a lot to consider.

A cow might look mighty fine from one side, but that didn't mean you knew everything about her.

And there were always a few that came into the ring acting like they'd rather be anywhere else in Scott County.

One would trot around like she was late for supper.

Another would plant all four feet and refuse to move.

The fellows working the ring would wave their arms, holler, and try to get her headed in the right direction.

And that cow would look at them like she'd never heard such foolishness in her life.

I always figured cattle had a special talent for making grown men look silly.

But while all that was going on, there was something else worth watching.

Grandpa wasn't there just for the excitement.

He was there to make a decision.

And a good decision took more than getting caught up in the bidding.

You had to think about what you were buying, what it was worth, and what you were going to do with it once you got it home.

Because buying a cow was only the beginning.

You still had to feed her, water her, keep the fences fixed, and look after her when the weather turned bad.

And believe me, a cow doesn't care how much you paid for her when she finds a hole in the fence.

She'll walk right through it whether she's worth fifty dollars or five hundred.

Looking back, I realize those trips to the sale barn offered more than a chance to watch cattle being sold.

They were an opportunity to spend time with Grandpa and see how the older generation approached things.

They understood something that took me a few years to appreciate.

Just because you can afford to buy something doesn't always mean you can afford to own it.

That's a lesson that reaches a whole lot farther than a cattle auction.

We see something we want, get excited, and start thinking about how good it'll be to have it.

A new truck. A bigger house. A new business. Maybe even a new opportunity in life.

But sometimes we get so busy thinking about what we're getting that we forget about what comes with it.

The work. The responsibility. The time.

There's an old saying, "Look before you leap."

And I reckon there wasn't a better place to learn that than sitting beside Grandpa at the sale barn.

Because the smartest fellow in the building wasn't necessarily the one who bought the most cattle.

Sometimes he was the one who knew when to let a good-looking cow walk right on out of the ring.

I couldn't tell you every cow that passed through that sale barn all those years ago.

But I can tell you this.

The older I get, the more I appreciate those Thursday mornings.

Not because of the cattle we might have brought home, but because of the time I got to spend with Grandpa.

You see, cattle come and go. Prices rise and fall. And eventually, even the busiest sale barn grows quiet.

But the lessons we learn sitting beside somebody we love can stay with us for the rest of our lives.

Sometimes the best thing you bring home from a sale barn isn't riding in the trailer. It's riding in the seat beside you.

And that's something no auctioneer could ever put a price on.

— Mark Morgan