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.