F is for FENCE

Dad loved fencing. I think there was probably no job around the farm that he enjoyed as much as heading off in the car with a boot full of fencing posts, a roll of barbed wire, a sledge hammer, a claw hammer, a pitchfork,a billhook, a bow saw and a pocket full of large staples. He could spend a whole day out in the fields, just walking along the perimeter hedges and looking for gaps that needed mending. Sometimes the easiest and most successful method was simply to cut down a few branches of blackthorn bush and push them into the space that needed fixing, for there were very few animals, except the most persistent escapees that would even consider tackling such a thorny issue. Often he would only need the barbed wire, hammer and staples to bridge the gap and he had this technique of being able to complete the job all on his own without needing any assistance . Usually it involved two hammers, one that he used to tighten the wire around a tree and then holding this firmly, he would use the other hammer to bang home a staple, just behind the barb, so that the wire couldn't slip. Many times too, when I was helping him, I saw him take off his flat cap, that he was rarely seen without, and fold it around the wire before pulling it tight with his hands, no mean feat on its own. On the more rare occasions when he needed the fence posts, I watched in admiration and with no little envy at his strength as he plunged the sledge hammer down on top of the wooden structure and saw it move into the ground several inches with each blow. When I was much younger, I remember watching him in the distant fields and seeing this lone figure pounding away at a fence post and hearing the dull thud a fraction of a second after the visual. As a result of his efforts, few of our cattle ever broke out and I think it said a lot about his attitude towards his neighbours in that he respected them and their property and would have been annoyed if any damage had been incurred because of his negligence.

After we were married and built our house, he was the one who helped to erect our wooden fence and, along with another local workman, spent painstaking days getting the angles and elevations just right so that the fence looked as well as possible after completion. It is a testament to him that twenty five years later, it is still standing and looks as good as the time it was built. However, a few times, its durability and my patience have been tested to the limit. On more than one occasion, cattle belonging to farmers who don't exhibit the same respect for their neighbours as dad always did and for whom fencing is neither a priority nor a necessity, have appeared on our front lawn. In an effort to remove their cattle sensing the damage that they might cause, the individuals in question have succeeded in causing more mayhem that they thought. Anyone knows that a large bullock will always leave deeper marks on a soft lawn when being chased than when walking and of course will always try and vault a wooden fence if pursued in that direction. Unfortunately, overweight cattle and vaulting should never be used in the same sentence and maybe a more appropriate word would be bludgeoning, for that's what has happened on at least two occasions and I have the patched up fence boards to prove it.

However, most people would not imagine that a Volkswagen could bludgeon its way through such a fence, from the inside but I have proof that it can. Wife and I were standing at the kitchen window, finishing the last of the tea dishes one evening, when our Golf drove past outside. This was unexpected as both its drivers were watching it at the time, from inside the house and as it rolled down the drive, I rushed out, only to see it narrowly avoid a large Weeping Willow, take a sidewards glance at a weeping, if somewhat startled owner and continue towards our hedge of fir trees. At which point it made a sharp right turn, persuaded by the conglomeration of branches and advanced rather quickly in the direction of the aforementioned fence. Being slightly heavier than the average bullock, it met little resistance and eventually came to a halt just as it closed in on the other fence at the opposite side of the lane. Even though the damage was minimal, nobody was willing to take the blame but let's just say if it had happened in class, I might have given out one hundred lines saying, 'I must use the handbrake properly.'

Last summer, despite the fence looking in good condition, I discovered that several of the vertical posts had rotted away underground and would have to be replaced. The first indication was when part of the fence began to list slightly to one side and the workman who fixed it for me, indicated that if I hadn't taken action, part of it would have fallen in a short time. It does make me think about my own spiritual life and how easy it is to let the rot set in but how long it can be before there are any visible signs. Little things, like skipping church, missing the odd quiet time, spending less time with God, not praying as much as I should, being more liberal than I once was, embracing every new faith, doctrine or religion, being influenced by those for whom God is not important. And it's funny because, our papers are more full of stories about man's rights rather than God's rights, about despite what is written in the Bible, we should remember that times have changed and we need to move with the times and interpret the Bible differently. Yet God has not changed and all the intelligent mind of this world put together don't even come close to matching His wisdom and intellect. It's all about having the right foundation for as Paul says, 'No one can lay any foundation other than the one already laid, which is Jesus Christ' and then making sure that we don't neglect it. Remember the fence. It's not what you see that always counts.