This weathered picket fence was put up by my dad and me many years ago. It fences in part of the vegetable garden. It has done its job admirably. Character is etched into its face. It is rotten to the point of falling apart.
When I leaned my hand against this section of fence, I fell right through it. It's probably time to think about replacing it. Only problem, I have a powerful sentimental attachment to it.
It's hard to think about letting go. Each picket has aged so gracefully. It will take years for any new fence to achieve this patina.
I've begun to explore replacements for the fence, ever so slowly, with a great deal of reluctance. It's like letting go of your favorite pair of worn-to-the-point-of-unutterable-softness flannel pajamas.
I'll let you know how the search goes. I'm thinking about a straightforward little picket fence, not much different than the current fence. Are you surpised? Sigh.
No comments:
Post a Comment