When we first moved in to our house in 1977, there was an auction house down the road. Having grown up in the city, this was a new experience for us. What the heck was an auction house? The place was big and rambling too. This pile doesn't do it justice. Saturday nights there was all kinds of traffic headed to the large parking lot. From 7 PM until 10 PM our road was one busy place. It was quite an experience. I think I went but once, and that was enough for me. When relatives came from Jersey, Elenka often walked them down so they might truly get the total experience of life in rural Maine. The parking lot was most crammed in December when the auctioneer began his toy auction. Monday afternoon it all repeated, but this day was reserved for animals only. It was livestock day. Had pigs, roosters, cows or goats you wanted to buy or sell? The auction house was the place. About five years ago, it closed, but due to non-use fell into disrepair. It began to resemble a, how do I say this delicately, mighty junkyard. I got an early morning call the first of last week. Elenka, on her way to work, informed me. The king was dead! The auction house was no more. In its place a pile of rubble stands now. Now how will this story end? Dump trucks doing the hauling? A bonfire lifting to the sky. Who cares. It's gone! Some places should be left in your past. Exhibit A.