The storm last night passed us by. We got warnings on our various devices, and we got some rain, but the high winds and tornadoes all went south. When we went out this morning, there were no limbs or branches on the ground–or at least no more than any other morning–and the sun was coming up over the hill to light a bright blue sky.
I love the soft clarity of morning after a rain.
For the past two weeks, I’ve devoted most of my outdoor time to building a fence around a raised-bed garden we have been developing over the past couple of years down by the well. There has always been a small garden down there, one that we inherited from the previous owners and that we used primarily for flowers and herbs.
But things change. When we lost some large oak trees in the front yard last year, there was suddenly a lot more sunlight available to grow herbs near the porch, which makes getting them to the kitchen a whole lot easier. At the same time, we are getting less and less sunlight around the main garden up by the barn because the surrounding trees are getting taller and taller.
As a result, we’re slowly migrating most of the garden down to the well, where the soil isn’t as good, but where there’s abundant sunlight and available water.
More garden means more fencing, hence my last couple of weeks. I was writing to a friend last night and trying to think of an analogy for what it’s like to build a fence. I have built many of them in my life–sometimes I’m good at at, sometimes not. Sometimes I’m lucky and don’t hit many rocks; sometimes it’s a rock fight all the way to the bottom. Sometimes my lines are reasonably straight; sometimes they have more of an organic look.
Anyway, if you’ve never build a fence, here’s the basic process: You start off by digging post holes twenty-four to thirty inches deep (about the length of your arm). Then there is setting the posts, pouring concrete, and making sure everything is level. I can average about one post per hour, a little faster if the soil is soft. On the other hand, I have spent as much as three or four hours on a single post, when there are major rocks or roots in the way. This fence has fifteen posts–which for me is three good days of work.
Since this is a garden fence, I stretched wire fencing on the post to slow down the rabbits. I know it won’t stop them completely, but it will frustrate them. Then I put on the railing–16 foot pieces of rough cut poplar–built gates, and trimmed all the posts.
I think building fences is a little bit like having babies. You’re all dreamy about the first one, thinking that it will make your life so much better, and not really understanding all the work and baby poop involved. It’s a wonder anyone every builds a second fence, except, like having babies, you forget what you had to go through the first time. And, like babies, eventually you start to realize that they won’t always make your life wonderful, but they are still necessary and worth the sweat, work, and worry.
This last picture was taken down by the pond. Across the street from us is a big hay field rising up over a hill. It’s one of my favorite places on the property because whenever I’m down there (usually walking Bobo) it feels like the hill is a giant wave coming at me.
Last year, the family that owns most of the property around here built a house just past the crest of the hill, and now it looks like a pirate ship on the horizon, just over the swell.
