Fence building

If the fog had lifted, we'd have been out of here. I've been determined this week to find a day when I can pick up my mother and take her for a drive. The cold weather and ice have kept her pretty close to home the past few weeks, and it's time for her to see something besides her in-home walls. Yesterday looked like a possibility, but that fog just hung around and hung around, so we couldn't go away.

The day was not lost on the fog, though. Bill came home for the afternoon and we did some fencing. I'd venture to say that we were probably the only crazy folks in North Idaho out building fence yesterday, but Miss Lily's apparent desire, last week, to check out the premises outside her in-home confines necessitated some quick action.

A couple of electric-fence encounters have taught her respect, but we figured that adding at least one layer of board fence around the pasture would send an even clearer message to Lily to stay put. So, we bought a unit of 2 by 8 by 12 foot fir boards, and we've been nailing them up wherever possible since Sunday. It will be spring before we can finish all the top boards because some areas around the pasture don't have wooden fence posts, and it's pretty hard to nail those boards to metal posts.

The job hasn't been really all that easy because even the horses hadn't paved a pathway through the two-feet of snow around the fence line. Walking with those heavy boards has involved a little praying that the board and the body don't fall face-first in the snow to remain planted until spring. Dropped hammers, drills, level and nails call for immediate retrieval before they sink clear out of sight in the deep snow. We've also had to pull out insulators for the top levels of electric fence wire to make way for the boards.

Even though wintertime fencing presents a definite challenge, it also provides plentiful rewards. The obvious visual and comforting satisfaction of a better enclosure coming into shape remains foremost, but along with that come priceless mini moments not to be forgotten.

With my job of holding each board in the middle while Bill drills nail holes and secures it into position with his hammer, I've had time to look over the young orchard in the front lawn and dream of spring apple and cherry blossoms. I've also had moments to look upward through the well-endowed limbs of Stan Meserve's huge spruce trees and watch chickadees flit in and out while singing their songs. I've noticed that bored horses have nibbled away at the bark of the young birch trees just outside the north fence. I've watched and admired as curious Miss Lily has sniffed at each board, at all the pockets on Bill's carpenter holster, and at the growing fence in general.

Best of all, during fencing, Bill and I work as a precise team, once we establish a routine. As he measures the next length I pound in nails three and four. With Lily following, he heads across the pasture for another board while I remove the next series of insulators and then stand leaning against the newly nailed board for another moment of admiration of this place we've come to love so much and so quickly. Soon he's back, handing me the next board. We then work in unison to see that it's level before the second nail pierces the post.

Through these outdoor fence-building sessions, little conversations also ensue. In one exchange yesterday, I learned about the boards which come from the heart of the tree. Those are the red ones, and that part of the tree is essentially dead, but those boards usually last longer than the lighter white ones which come from the newest growth on the tree.

I think every marriage would do well with a little fencing project. In our case, we not only build a fence to keep the horses where they belong, but we add a little more spice to a well-seasoned relationship.