One of the things that's hard for some folks to understand is my passion for fencing. I've had some people a lot smarter and a heckuva lot more successful than me point out that I'm too old and shouldn't be doing the manual labor of fencing anymore.
I should turn it over to the young guys and get on with doing things people my age do these days.
Maybe it goes back to my father pointing out that the good thing about fencing is the difference between your arrival on a project and your departure is the difference you make.
I just know there's some real pleasure in it.
I swear every night when I go to bed early because I'm whupped and parts of my body hurt like the dickens I do give the thought of tomorrow doing it all over again a second thought.
But invariably the line, the welds, the fabric, or whatever I'm doing that day will entice me into falling in love all over again with the work.
The last two days we've been setting this line of a 134 posts. That's about a thousand fifty feet of fence when you figure eight foot centers and the two ends.
It's a lot of work. I have to let the concrete stiffen up enough to hold the post for height and line. This has been complicated by the our winds this time of year.
The holes are about four feet deep. The posts are at an angle in the hole and the concrete is up to within six inches or so of the grade. We lay the posts angling out away so they don't interfer with sighting down the line. When the concrete is just right lifting the post to height takes effort. If the post comes up and at plumb is out of line then I'll pull the post completely out of concrete and set it in line plumb. Pushing it down to grade while keeping it plumb takes some specialized muscles. I know this. Mostly because those specialized muscles complain a lot these days.
The process is typical of laborious work. When you first start and you look at how far you have to go you want to quit. The first third is all about pushing yourself and letting stubborness and pride take over. The next third is about being almost numb to the process. The muscles quiet down with their complaining and it's just about moving forward one step or motion at a time.
The last third is what's so addictive. It starts coming together. Pride and anticipation link up and then the focus goes from process to product.
There's few things more personally rewarding than looking back at a day's labor and knowing that you've done your best. It might not be and probably isn't the best ever done, but it's the best you've ever done.
Like I said, it's addictive. I think about giving up the fencing and concentrating on the important things in life. But not for long. /forums/images/graemlins/grin.gif
This is a picture that I had to downsize to post. Full sized it was hard to see. Downsizing hasn't made it any better.
The neighbor's fence is the green fence on the right. It comes across and then goes down the line about a hundred feet.
Between it and the telephone pole is a thin white-silver line.
That line is the fence we've been working on for the last couple of days. We'll start welding in the top rail Wednesday. It'll be too wet to get down there before then with our wonderful storms giving us almost three inches as of right now and the heavy rains are supposed to arrive tonight.
It's just a thin white-silver line in the picture. But it has five hundred plus feet of the straightest fence I've ever set for line and height, ever. The other half of the fence had to rise and fall due to grade. But the first half from the road I was able to shoot straight.
It represents a special moment for me. Here when it's supposed to be over because of my age I get to do my best.
I like that.
