The neighbours’ fence started almost at the end of the driveway. It ran for about a mile, or so, alongside the main road, towards town. Down the hill through the pasture and hay field where it made its way through a boggy patch. Clambering amongst the willows that grew up around it holding the logs in their place. Across from the school it turned down through the trees and stopped at the creek only to take off again, up over the hill, on the other side of the water.
Some of the rails were moss covered. Some were rotting and all of them were weather beaten. It had stood year after year doing its job with pride. Occasionally a log would fall off. Sometimes left unattended for a long time until it was noticed by a person passing by. Hoisted back to it place to continue with its life.
As with all things old, the fence has stories to tell. Sharing the history and anecdotes it had gathered in its lifetime.
The one about the night when the haying crew ran into it while trying to get the last bit of hay off by the light of a full moon. Three sections had to be repaired so the cattle would stay on their side of the fence.
It might reminisce on how it had stoically stood still for the kids who tried to walk its length. The little girl who always had to be at the back of the line. She took slow methodical steps while the bigger kids tried to run. When they fell off, they had to move to the back of the line. It didn’t take long for the little girl to be at the front.
Or, the first time it came up against barbed wire. A sadness prevailed, but only for a short time. The rancher soon put his prize bull back into the log corral when the animal got caught up in the wire.
And, of course, the storm that it directed the herd of cattle during the blizzard. They had followed the fence to the open gate that let them into the corrals near the barn.
And now, all that is left are the memories. The kids have grown and moved away. The hayfield has been returned to Mother Nature. The dirt road into town is paved. Wire fences have replaced the logs.
The creek remains; and for now, so do remnants of the old fence going up the hill on the other side.
Some of the rails were moss covered. Some were rotting and all of them were weather beaten. It had stood year after year doing its job with pride. Occasionally a log would fall off. Sometimes left unattended for a long time until it was noticed by a person passing by. Hoisted back to it place to continue with its life.
As with all things old, the fence has stories to tell. Sharing the history and anecdotes it had gathered in its lifetime.
The one about the night when the haying crew ran into it while trying to get the last bit of hay off by the light of a full moon. Three sections had to be repaired so the cattle would stay on their side of the fence.
It might reminisce on how it had stoically stood still for the kids who tried to walk its length. The little girl who always had to be at the back of the line. She took slow methodical steps while the bigger kids tried to run. When they fell off, they had to move to the back of the line. It didn’t take long for the little girl to be at the front.
Or, the first time it came up against barbed wire. A sadness prevailed, but only for a short time. The rancher soon put his prize bull back into the log corral when the animal got caught up in the wire.
And, of course, the storm that it directed the herd of cattle during the blizzard. They had followed the fence to the open gate that let them into the corrals near the barn.
And now, all that is left are the memories. The kids have grown and moved away. The hayfield has been returned to Mother Nature. The dirt road into town is paved. Wire fences have replaced the logs.
The creek remains; and for now, so do remnants of the old fence going up the hill on the other side.
This is Day 1 of a photo and story challenge from Charli Mills. Today I nominate Inspirational Speaker and Author, Tandy Balson, to take up the challenge if she is so obliged to participate.
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