Adventures in fencing ? if you picket that, it?ll never heal

|tab|

Because I'm an artist as all writers are I'm somewhat non-linear. That means I don't do things in a logical sequence, at least not very often.|ret||ret||tab|

I once built a doghouse from the roof down, which might testify to my structural engineering deficiencies. |ret||ret||tab|

And so when it came time to build a fence to allow my inside dogs to be outside dogs, I should have hired someone to do it. But being on a tight budget, that wasn't an option. |ret||ret||tab|

Dyslexia aside, I pondered for months just how to place the fence to minimize my labor. One side of my yard has cyclone fencing, thanks to neighbors Don and Judy Weber, and the back boundary has a fieldstone garage attached to a fieldstone wall.|ret||ret||tab|

It appeared that all I needed was to install fencing from the garage corner out about 15 feet, then up the driveway another 30 feet, turn and connect to one side of the deck four feet away, then from the other side of the deck another four feet, then tie into the chain-link fence about 20 feet away. |ret||ret||tab|

Piece o' cake about 75 feet worth of fencing, give or take a foot but I knew I needed to pace myself as my physical strength waxed and waned. That 75 feet now feels like 200 feet and I'm still not done.|ret||ret||tab|

It's not that I'm a weenie, but I've never been a jock, except for a brief stint in high school track. Nor have I pumped much iron in my life, unless the steam iron counts. But I am sturdy, from good peasant stock on both sides of the family.|ret||ret||tab|

Even though I've never had much regimen for physical development, the rigors of life have shaped my physique, such as it is. The right side of my body is actually stronger than the left from carrying toddlers on my hip for about six years. (I don't think mothers ever lose that strength.)|ret||ret||tab|

So it seemed that the exercise of digging post holes might help develop the puny muscles in my left arm. And a little boost to the pectorals couldn't hurt.|ret||ret||tab|

With this in mind, I began to dig the first post hole. The ground was soft, the shovel went in easily OK, this shouldn't take long at all!|ret||ret||tab|

Setting the first post was easy. I had decided early in the planning stages not to anchor them in. That was more work than I wanted to do, was messy and, having had some experience mixing cement, I knew that there was many a slip twixt the cup and the lip, as my old gray-haired mother used to say.|ret||ret||tab|

Cement, unlike cake batter, doesn't always set up the way it's supposed to, and you can't just throw it in the trash like you can a culinary mistake. So I decided to use gravel in place of cement, according to one of my daddy's how-to books, a perfectly acceptable way to set up fence posts. The trick was to dig the hole two feet deep, settle gravel in the bottom, put in the post, dump in some dirt, then fill with gravel to the top. And gravel was free, being right there in my driveway.|ret||ret||tab|

The key was to dig a two-foot-deep hole, but I hadn't counted on encountering rocks. Perhaps the fieldstone garage and fence should have been a clue. It was during the digging of the second post hole that the shovel snapped off about 18 inches above the blade. |ret||ret||tab|

Not to be deterred as I am a little obsessive and once on a roll it's hard for me to stop I attacked the second hole with the shortened shovel. "This way it could be even better exercise," I decided. Having just learned the Pilates exercise method of curving in the abdomen to strengthen the body core, I thought that squatting, sucking in my gut and plunging the short shovel straight down to dig the hole would be a great exercise. It was for about two minutes. That's why the next hole was only 18 inches deep. |ret||ret||tab|

Then I struck tree roots. So the next hole was 12 inches deep. Time to survey the work. The yard looked a bit like a brand new vineyard with neat row of posts, sans grapevines.|ret||ret||tab|

It was time to attach a crossbar to see if it really was a fence I was building. I desperately need to hammer some nails.|ret||ret||tab|

I spaced the first two posts properly to attach the six-foot crossbar and hammered the first one in. Not using anything to make sure the angle was right, I just eyeballed it. Then I attached the lower cross bar. |ret||ret||tab|

Hmm. Not quite straight. I took it off and attached it again, and again. ... Where was that T-square when I needed it? After a while, I just settled for getting it close.|ret||ret||tab|

Attaching the pickets so I could actually tell it was really going to be a fence was next. I had bought six-foot-tall pickets because Corky, my little Welsh Corgi -mix dog, had demonstrated his jumping prowess by leaping over the four-foot Dutch door in my house in hot pursuit of a cat. No sense putting up a fence the dog can jump over, now, was there?|ret||ret||tab|

Whap! Whap! First picket attached. Whap! Whap! Reattached cross bar. Picket two detached the cross bar. Then it occurred to me that the pickets and the crossbar should be on the same side of the fence so the hammering wouldn't knock them off. Brilliant! Who needed an engineer when trial and error would suffice?|ret||ret||tab|

When it came time to attach the third picket, however, a new quandary appeared how to judge how close to attach the new picket to the second? Tape measure! For the balance of the section, I carefully measured the distance between pickets before I hammered them home. Eventually, I hit upon the idea of using a three-inch piece of wood instead of remeasuring three inches every time.|ret||ret||tab|

Time to stand back and survey the handiwork again. Why did the pickets start high and end low? Because I hadn't paid attention, that's why! I was so intent on holding the wood in place that I didn't compare the pickets to each other for height. |ret||ret||tab|

Rip! Off they came, reminding me ever-so-much of my sewing expeditions when I would have to rip out seams because I sewed the wrong sides of a skirt together. Some people just don't do well with abstracts in space.|ret||ret||tab|

This time I made sure everything was even, and just before I collapsed from exhaustion, I was able to see the fruits of five hours' work one complete section of picket fence. Ta-da!|ret||ret||tab|

So, here it is mid-September and I've completed four sections of fence, and no surprise to anyone each one looks different. I even took the pickets off and shortened them by a foot six-foot pickets are just too goofy looking. |ret||ret||tab|

With only six more post holes to go, the task is nearly done. But now that winter is looming, I'm starting to think my plan wasn't all it was cracked up to be. I know the dogs will whine to come in the house when it gets cold. They are, after all, house dogs. Whatever was I thinking?|ret||ret||tab|

But, say, don't the morning glories meandering among the pickets look darling?[[In-content Ad]]