tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-923244004963262945.post-27996619883519294562008-03-20T17:46:00.002-05:002008-03-20T17:46:32.535-05:00The two three-year-old colts met me at the gate again. The problem was it was the gate to the large pasture, not the gate to the horse pasture. I had just fixed the fence two days before, I thought. Not good enough to impress these two it seems.<br /><br />I call Jim. “MeToo and Cirrus are out again.” “Where did they get out?” “The west side.” He sighs, “Can you be more specific?” “Okay, the southwest side.”<br /><br />That’s the best I can do. The first half of the fence to the west is a thing of beauty. Wood fence posts alternated with steel. Wire strung tight enough to play a tune; it rolls gently down the hill to a small creek where a small culvert lets the water flow east into the pond.<br />From there south is “The Hill” and what passes for a fence, when visible, is not a well planned or secure construction. Scattered steel posts and electric wire and sometimes a quarter inch rope for visible effect make up the southwestern boundary of “The Hill.” It is one of those fences you hope you don’t’ have to fix because the animals probably won’t go there.<br /><br />I put the colts back into the pasture and go for the white fiberglass electric fence posts and some tape and insulators. I know there is no way to carry steel posts and a post driver up there. I decide to start at the furthest corner away, since odds are that is where the problem will be.<br /><br />I take the long walk up the east side of the pasture to the top of the hill and across the ridge to the southwest corner of the pasture. Sure enough, there is enough slack wire for some enterprising youngsters to slip under by the gate at the top. Easy fix. I make a few patches as I work my way down. Very soon I am at the edge of “The Hill.” For a brief moment I am smug that the colts are athletic enough to have figured out how to get through this fence at these extreme angles. Then my feet start to slip out from under me and I realize I am not athletic enough to fix fence at these angles.<br /><br />I hook a loop of the electric tape over a sturdy looking steel fence post and use it to rappel down the side of “The Hill” to the next patch spot. The tape works well and I make my way from spot to spot this way – until the tape runs out – and I have to tie it off and climb back up “The Hill” without its help.<br /><br />The time to try and remember if you turned the juice off the solar charger before you left or if this particular remaining wire is hooked into the real electric charger is not when you start to slide and forget and grab at the nearest hand hold.<br /><br />I’m not sure where the notion that Iowa is flat originated. I t must have been an ill-fated marketing ploy to entice flat-earth believers to the state at some time. I feel lucky that there are enough deep-rooted weeds to hang on to or at least slow my fall if I should slip.<br /><br />I finally reach a spot I can stand up straight again and survey my work. I come from a great lineage of fence cobblers. My grandfather used broken farm machinery to patch fence. Cows get out; drag the old hay loader into the broken wire. He never sold or got rid of anything that broke. It was far too valuable as fencing material. I’m not too certain he didn’t go to the neighbor’s farm sales to buy their broken machinery and haul it home.<br /><br />I never had the wealth of broken and rusty objects to fix fence, but something in the DNA allowed me to see the potential of small trees and branches, metal sheeting and other found materials like coat hangers for fixing fences. Since all I ever had to contain were horses, my theory was if you can make it look really scary, they won’t get close enough to find out if they can get through it.<br /><br />I am pleased with my work. It looks substantial if not scary. There is only so much you can do with this new modern electric stuff. Just one more thing, and it will be perfect.<br /><br />I walk back to the pasture gate, again taking the longer, eastern route, to avoid another confrontation with “The Hill.” I start the tractor, stab a large bale and take it into the horse pasture. The way I figure, they should be so busy eating me out of house and home they will forget about the fence on “The Hill” or if they do remember it, they will be too fat to do a Snowy River through my cobbling.bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16769913144930997567noreply@blogger.com