Picket Fence - Part 1

 

Over a year ago, a decision was made to replace the aged, yet beautiful, picket fence that surrounds a  portion of the vegetable garden on The North Forty.  See The Picket Fence.  Pickets were purchased and preliminary construction plans were hatched. Then, for one reason or the other, the pickets spent their summer reclining on the back porch and the construction plans were shelved.

Fast forward to Spring 2013.  Entire sections of the tired old fence collapsed and had to be removed.  The beloved fence had become something of an embarassment.  It certainly was not doing the job for which it was intended. 



I am happy to report substantial progress has been made on construction of the new fence, though not without a fair bit of dissension and a temporary mutiny within the construction crew ranks. 

These innocent enough looking pickets just about caused the project to be postponed til 2014.  Better Half did not like the point at the top.  He wanted to round off each picket like the old fence pickets.  I, however, did like the point and suggested we add the circular cut out for a bit of whimsy, hoping Better Half would change his mind about lopping off the top of the pickets.  He did.  After making a template, he set up a workshop of sorts on the back porch to laboriously cut the hole into each of the 100 plus pickets. 

 

 

As we worked, I could sense a little frustration emanating from him.  OK, a lot more than a little.  He was all for plodding along, and even suggested that a cigar might be nice as he worked.  I, on the other hand, viewed the whole hole-cutting project as an assembly line process, one to be dispensed with as quickly and efficiently as possible.  He glared at me quite frequently and then dismissed me from the project.  So, I snapped a few photos and stormed into the house, with words to the effect, "Build it yourself." 

 

When the actual building commenced this past weekend, I busied myself on another part of The North Forty, keeping a watchful eye on the goings on.  Better Half set up his saw horses and tools, and carried the lumber to the site.  He peppered me with questions about the fence, to which I made scant reply.  Finally, I rejoined the project when he told me he couldn't build the fence without me.  Sweeter words were never uttered, that and "I'm sorry."   

 



 

So, we set about building the fence, stringer by stringer, picket by picket.  We built one side.  Then we disassembled a little bit of what we built and rebuilt it.  Then we took another look and disassembled almost all of it and rebuilt it again.   We are satisfied, finally, with the first side.

We plan to tackle the remaining two sides of the fence in the coming weekends.  I surely hope the fence building proceeds more peacably and easily than the prior two weekends.  Fence building is hard on a marriage.   I tried to rein in my urges to speed Better Half along.  By the third rebuild of the fence this past weekend, even Better Half himself was speeding along assembly line fashion.

Here's a close up of the the new pickets.  They will look a lot better once they've got a little age on them.  The fence will turn a nice silvery grey, and with time, grow some great green lichens.

If you were a tiny lettuce leaf, this would be your view of the new fence. 

More to come.



Frank

A vague sense of discontent haunted me today.  It followed me around as I did chores and ran errands.  It was unshakeable. 

My long-time neighbor, Frank, has sold his home.  He has been considering a move for some time.   He is 86.  He has maintained his home and yard, on his own, since his wife's death several years ago.  See my post of last year, Frank's Front Porch Visit to learn more about my friend and neighbor.  He is moving to a new home, a condominium about 20 minutes away.  He has been packing and moving, little by little. Yesterday, a large yellow truck pulled into his driveway and over the course of many hours, Frank's belongings were loaded onto the truck.  I did not see the truck nor Frank leave. 

This morning, there was no activity at Frank's home.  I began to believe Frank had slipped away from me yesterday.  I hadn't said "Good-bye", though we have all talked regularly as he made plans to move. Better Half helped Frank with his home sale and new home purchase.  It did not seem possible that my friend of 28 years could be gone, with nary a word.

Late this afternoon, several cars pulled up into Frank's driveway.  Out of them poured people I did not know.  Among them were two young girls, who began to play in the yard, tiny dog in tow.  The older persons gathered on the front walk and made their way into the house.  The girls cavorted around the yard and began to do cartwheels. Their hair gleamed in the late afternoon sunshine.  It was a happy sight.  My new neighbors had arrived.  I was sure Frank had gone.

What a conflicting medley of emotions!  While I was sad to see Frank sell his home, I knew that the house had grown to be too much for him to care for, and I am sure it reminded him daily of his wife, Connie.   I was happy for him to be in a new, one-story home, requiring little in the way of maintenance.   I know, reasonably, this is a good move.  However, emotionally, selfishly, I want to keep Frank close by, to keep things as they are.

On the other hand, there was a certain joy in watching children play in the yard, in watching our new neighbors take their family and friends into the house that will become their new home.

When Better Half came home from work, I expressed my fear that Frank had somehow managed to get away without a "Good-Bye".  Better Half assured me that Frank had not completed his move and would be around to say "Good-Bye.  Yet, even Better Half had his doubts as he watched the girls play on the lawn.

Just as we finished dinner, the doorbell did a quick series of "Ding-Dongs".  That specific series of "Ding-Dongs" belongs only to Frank.  Off we rush to the door.  It is Frank.  He has returned for another load of belongings.  He settles in for a visit to tell us how he is progressing.  He slept, like a baby, in his new home, last night.  He continues to pack, and move, box by box.  He turned down our offers of help, preferring to go through each closet and cabinet, taking with him only those things he knows he will need. 

I sent him packing, as the sunlight faded, with some lasagna and Easter sugar cookies.  He was tired and there were boxes to be unloaded and organized in his new home.

As we stood outside, he looked at Better Half and me, and told us he hoped we wouldn't mind if he told us he loved us.  I hugged my dear friend, Frank, doing my best to hold back the tears that had threatened to overtake me today, while Better Half stood by the side.  I told him I loved him.  We made tentative plans for a dinner with the boys, their girls and baby granddaughter.  He said he would like that.  I will like that.  I rushed into the house, while Better Half watched him drive away, as my tears could not be held back any longer.

Yes, I know life will go on.  I will see Frank again.  I will get to know the neighbors and their girls.  Change is inevitable.  Yet, it is hard.

I love you, Frank.  Take care.