Fence Building

May 9, 2010
I helped build fence today.
Immediately, the image that comes to my mind is Robert Frost’s poem, “Mending Wall.” I picture those old New England farmers lifting fallen boulders and cementing them back on miles of rock fence along rolling green hills.
The next image that rises is of fenceposts and post hole diggers: hot, sweaty work in the blazing heat. Actually, I picture sweat-glistening backs of tanned and muscle-bound men . . . time to move on.
Of course, there is also the barbed wire fencing or the electric fencing to keep cattle in and intruders out. From my years on the Plains, I can visualize endless miles slicing the flat horizon of brown-stubbled fields. Someone had to string them.
These are all worthy images of hard labor. However, what I helped with today was something entirely different. My job was to balance the huge roll of deer fencing while John fastened it to the tops of metal stakes that he had driven into the ground years ago for Mom’s garden. Then, I took the long green plastic ties, threading one around each metal stake at about a four foot height. Tomorrow I will start the trickier part of threading ties near the ground around the stakes and through both the deer fencing and the chicken wire.
Somehow, saying I helped build fence today sounds much more impressive than saying I fastened bright green plastic zip ties at my leisure.
Now the deer and dogs and rabbits won’t be able to enter Mom’s garden, as long as we keep the gate closed. Too bad we can’t keep the mosquitoes out.

Mugwump

May 10, 2010
     I am a mugwump. No, for those Narnian fans out there, it is not the same thing as a Marshwiggle. You incredibly gifted vocabularians know what I’m talking about, but I just found out today.
     Mugwumping (you won’t find that in a dictionary) comes naturally for me. Forever on the fence, I balance unsteadily at the point of indecision. Should I be on the left or on the right? Should I be pro-this or anti-that?
     Problem is that I want to be friends with people on both sides of the fence, though I probably relate the best to those fellow fence balancers who periodically fall one way or the other, brush themselves off, and climb right back on to the razor edge of difference.
     Is it always important to know exactly what I think about political issues or world events or controversies that sharply divide people? It’s so hard to decide. As a mugwump, I seem to be genetically predisposed (unless, of course, you believe that nurture outweighs nature) to listen to all sides. Each side—and for mugwumpers like myself there are rarely only two—has its strengths and appeals. Each has its weaknesses. But as I listen, there usually isn’t room for personal evaluation. I get absorbed with what the other is saying and with the body language that is saying something different than what the mouth espouses.
     Yes, I do have some opinions (I think). But I cannot debate them because I might change my mind. There is always another interesting argument to hear, another perspective to ponder, another life experience to consider. So I just keep mugwumping along. Like Robert Frost, I’m not too crazy about fences that divide. Someone has to sit on them.