The Rural Voice, 1992-08, Page 32Don't fence us in
Memories of fencing madness
with a boy, a dog, heat, flies and `lemonade'
By R. A. Fowler
Some things never change.
Summer farm work is always hard,
usually hot and mostly behind
schedule. And so it was 50 years ago
when my father emerged from the
Great Depression into late middle age
with no money, one pre -teen son and
a burning ambition to resurrect the
agricultural triumphs of his youth.
The stage on which this miracle
would unfold to a waiting world was
an Ontario farm
distinguished by
probably the most
decrepit fences in the
county. Some fences
are judged "good" or
"not had" while others
arc evaluated as
"worn out" or
"disgraceful" by
passing expert and
disdainful ncighbour
alike.
But none of thosc
milk -sop adjectives
cover the rusting wire,
the broken rails, the
leaning posts that
dotted the landscape
in our corner of the
rural vineyard.
"Absurd" or "scan-
dalous" are more
fitting assessments
and, indeed, these
were often whispered
into the ears of local
visitors to describe the
band-aid barriers that
marked our fields.
But not, we hasten to
mention, into the ears
of my father, a man
whose pride exceeded
his size and whose
low boiling point
belied his mild
demeanour — both by
a wide margin.
Fences are sup-
posed to discourage
28 THE RURAL VOICE
pedestrian livestock traffic from
spilling onto adjacent geography
there to trample, munch on, fertilize
and generally recycle other peoples'
crops and produce as well as any
intervening lawns and gardens that
happen along.
But not our fences! Summer
pastures enclosed by those marvels of
containment engineering seldom
enclosed our migrating herds for
more than three or four consecutive
hours. By lunchtime or in the cool of
the evening, at the dark of midnight
or by dawn's early light, our runaway
collection of four footed drifters was
long gone.
Without a backward glance, a
moment's hesitation or an ounce of
regret they loped effortlessly over or
through our tattered fence -lines to
seek fulfillment 'n expropriated corn
and grain and
Neighbours used strong words to describe our
fences...but never to my father
whose pride exceeded his size
turnips and clover
and such. Or to
spread out and
explore, usually
during a blinding
thunderstorm, four
or five miles of
township sideroad
and the water -
filled ditches,
home to clumps of
willows, burdock
and thorn trees,
there adjoining.
The character
and mind set of
horses and cows
motivated by
gypsy instinct and
fall-ing-down
fences to wander
the globe
gradually
solidifies into full-
blown psychosis.
Grazing live-
stock so afflicted
grow sly, deter-
mined, restless,
unreasoning,
contemptuous of
the spoken word,
immune to bri-
bery, deaf to
shouted threats,
hardened to hu-
man cursing, obli-
vious to human
screaming. So it
was that my