The auctioneer’s voice almost sounds like a babbling brook—which would make sense in this pastoral Pennsylvania setting—if you can imagine that sound playing at 15 times the speed. The winter sun is caking the mud beneath my boots, but my ears and brain are the only parts of my body engaged at the moment. And they are straining to keep up.

CanIgettwohundredtwohundredletmeseeonebillfiftyonebillfiftyI’vegotonefiftylet’shearonesixtyisthatonesixtyfive…

I’m part of a big crowd leaning ear-forward in the direction of a podium, where a man is summoning the 50 or so people facing him to lift their yellow bidding tickets in honor of a wooden armoire. His accomplices look feverishly around the canopy tent, making eye contact with prospective buyers, the occasional come-hither of their fingers suggesting, you, there! go for it!, before moving on to someone else they hope to convince to engage. The armoire is gorgeous, like everything else on offer today—some items are Amish-made, like the quilts being strung up for display; other are Amish-relevant, like the buggies going up for auction in an hour—and much of it is a steal.

As if a record scratched, I hear the auctioneer’s regular speaking voice:

“Are you really going to let this armoire walk away for under $200? This is highway robbery.” The crowd laughs, and he goes back to burbling, trying to inch any poor sucker a few bucks higher.

This is an Amish mud sale, one of many that will take place this spring in Lancaster County, bringing Amish and “English” (non-Amish) locals together to purchase wares and generate funds for the area’s fire departments. This weekend the sale is in Gordonville, right near Intercourse, Pennsylvania (cue many a joke), and it’s one of the biggest of the season. Similar events, though, will unfold nearly every weekend from February to late June or so, in and around the firehouses to be benefitted. Some of the items for the taking today have been offered on consignment, with a portion of proceeds going to the fire department, while others are outright donated.

It’s enough motivation to have fueled these sales for decades (today marks Gordonville’s 57th annual auction). “Many Amish men in Lancaster serve as volunteer fire fighters,” says Steve M. Nolt, PhD, a professor of history and Anabaptist studies at Elizabethtown College here in central Pennsylvania. “That service and the energy that they and their families put into these benefit auctions are key to bolstering rural volunteer fire companies here. While many rural fire companies in Lancaster County could use more men and money, they are, on average, in a better place than most across Pennsylvania because of efforts like the mud sales.”

A mud sale is fun if you’re a flea-market lover, interested in vintage Coca-Cola signs or lovely caned furniture, and it’s rather convenient if you’re in the market for a high-pressure manure pump or a one-horse work sled, both of which are up for grabs this weekend (the signs are clear that no horses themselves will be auctioned today). A mud sale is also just fascinating if you, like me, live in a world dominated by screens—and trends called country-core—and want to slide into this reality for a moment.