Horse auction in the heartland - Hallo friendsCAPITAL STORIES FOR CHILDREN, In the article you read this time with the title Horse auction in the heartland, We have prepared this article for you to read and retrieve information therein. Hopefully the contents of postings Article ADVENTURE, Article ANIMATION, Article LATEST DONGENG, Article WORLD OF ANIMALS, We write this you can understand. Alright, good read.

Title : Horse auction in the heartland
link : Horse auction in the heartland

Horse auction in the heartland

[By Marcia Milner-Brage in Waverly, Iowa, USA] 

  The Waverly Horse Sale is held Spring and Fall. It began in 1947. It’s billed as the largest horse sale in the United States. Waverly is a small city 18 miles from my home in Cedar Falls. I’ve lived in the area for three decades but had never been to the horse sale until last Thursday. 

In the parking lot, horse trailers had license plates from 25 different states, as well as the central provinces of Canada. In outdoor pens and the dimly lit barn behind the indoor auction arena, horses awaited their turn to be sold. Each had a number stuck to its rump (see above). The Waverly Sale is a four day event. It starts early each morning and sometimes goes late into the night. The auctioneer's singsong, driving chant is broadcast outside. Don't miss hearing an example of what a horse auction sounds like HERE.

I felt totally out of my element when I entered the arena. The horses–individually or as a team–are ridden or led into the earthen-floored center. It is the length of a basketball court but narrower. Each had only a few minutes of being pranced and trotted to show off their agility and strength and responsiveness to the handler’s command. All the while, the auctioneer called out the bidding from the elevated half-circle dais at one end.

The bleachers that rose up on the long sides of the arena were packed. Many of the people attending were Amish. The men wore their trademark, wide-brimmed, straw hats, identical long-sleeved shirts and pants, suspenders and open, black vests. The men all had long beards, no moustaches. The Amish are a sect that came from Europe in the mid-1700s. They choose a strict agrarian-based life, shunning machinery and automation. They use horses to pull their plows, buggies and carts—no motorized vehicles. This horse sale is their milieu. There are about 7,000 Amish in Iowa.

I had a hard time finding a place to sit. With the help of a geezer’s extended, calloused hand I squeezed myself into a high-up center spot next to him. He wore a cowboy hat and cowboy boots. He struck me as someone I’d seen only in the movies, someone who'd spent a lifetime driving cattle across the range. “Did you bring a rig?” he immediately asked. In other wards, was I there to buy or sell horses?

“Nope. I came to draw the scene. I live just south of here.” I waved my not-yet-opened Moleskin and pencil for him to see.

“Well where’s your camera?”

“No, I’m going to draw what I see right now. I don’t use photos.”

“Ya aren’t gonna git much. Things move along too fast.”

Trying to turn the page on his discouragement, I asked where he was from and whether he had brought a rig. “I came up from Texas, the Dallas/Ft. Worth area. I didn’t bring my rig, my wife wouldn’t let me. She’s a good woman. Kind of hard. But good. I came cuz you see different kinds of horses up here. Even horses from Canada.” I could see he was digging in to continue the chitchat. So I knew I had to wend my way to a different spot.

The action was indeed non-stop. Once a horse had been successfully bid on, it left the arena out the other end and the next horse entered, with only a brief introduction like, “This is a gelding who stands 13 hands. He’s 7-years-old. He’ll do what you want him to do. He wants to please.” Standing facing the audience from the edge of the arena, were several men whose job was to watch for bidders, signaling to the auctioneer when someone had upped the bid. I had the hardest time seeing who was doing the bidding. I asked an Amish man sitting next to me how the bid-collector knew someone was bidding. He chuckled. “Oh, sometimes it’s just a nod or a wink.” Once the auctioneer had deemed the bidding had been won, he hit the gavel and the bid-collector shot his arm into the air and called out the successful bidder’s number.

I’ve always been a city person. I was put on a miniature horse at a county fair when I was a six-year-old and led around a rink. The photo shows me stony-faced, gripping the saddle horn tight. As an adult, I went on a trail ride in Colorado. The scenery was nice. But in both instances, I was happy to get down, relieved to be standing on my own two feet. I was never that attracted to riding or being around horses much. But I sure like looking at them. The culture surrounding the trading of horses is fascinating. I’m compelled to go back to the Waverly Horse Sale again in the Spring.

Thus Article Horse auction in the heartland

That's an article Horse auction in the heartland This time, hopefully can give benefits to all of you. well, see you in posting other articles.

You are now reading the article Horse auction in the heartland with the link address https://capitalstories.blogspot.com/2017/10/horse-auction-in-heartland.html

Tweet

Subscribe to receive free email updates: