About 18 years ago, I moved into my first home as a divorced single woman. My sons were grown and had moved away, and my parents lived in California … and yet they are always willing to help me if I had a need.
My father was none too happy that my home was open and exposed, and backed up to a busy road. He and my mom traveled up from California, and my father set out to build a fence. It was fall, and rain was in the forecast most every day. My backyard runs along a lava tube, and digging post holes was a monumental achievement. At about 66 years old, Dad dug holes, pounded posts and poured concrete until posts surrounded my property. Then he commenced to hammer in the fence boards, with each strike of the hammer sending sprays of rainwater back into his face.
He finished the job, and like everything my father has ever made, it stood strong and sturdy, and provided both privacy and safety. It was a lesson of a father’s love and his tenacity to overcome the elements.
Fast-forward 18 years, and the fence is looking a bit tired. I mentioned to my family that I was going to have to redo the fence and had been lucky to get a good deal on some lumber. I surveyed the posts and, remarkably, they were still firmly in place, and none would need replacing. But I would need to get creative to navigate some trees, which were saplings when I planted them but now so big they were trying to occupy the same place as the fence.
I was now approaching the same age as my father when he built the fence, but I was not nearly as accomplished a builder, nor as strong. But I marked my calendar, bought the supplies and prepared for the daunting task of rebuilding the fence when I received a call from one of my sons. He asked if I would provide some beer and pizza if he and a friend came to lend a hand with the fence.
“Of course,” I said.
For the next two weekends, my three sons and many of their friends descended on my yard, navigated large tree roots, beat back blackberry vines and installed a beautiful fence along all but one short side of my yard. I watched and listened to them work, feeling so lucky to have such wonderful sons and blessed that their friends were so willing to help. I had watched these friends grow up over the years. They were all married with families of their own now, and yet they took time to lend a hand to a buddy’s mom. It was a lesson in humility and generosity.
Finally, it was time to tackle the last section of fence. I started cutting line strings, hammering nails and took out a power saw to trim some boards to fit, and what did I hear? It was the sound of my neighbor, an 80-year-old widow, as she started sawing and hammering, too. She said enjoyed the look of my new fence and had been buying lumber to rebuild her fence, as well. She decided to get out in the sun and help finish the common section between our homes. She had grown up with lots of brothers on a farm. She was a lesson in the strength of an independent woman and in the kindness of a good neighbor.
I was left with a mountain of rotted boards, rusty nails and other debris. My compact car is not the best vehicle for hauling debris. In steps the boyfriend of a friend and co-worker. After a long day of hauling and spreading bark dust for his family, he had an empty trailer, the perfect device for clearing and hauling away my debris. Another lesson in kindness.
So the fence is done, and it looks wonderful. The gate is open to welcome in family and friends. When four-legged friends come to visit, they can run free and explore. When the grandchildren come to play, I can keep them corralled in the safety of my yard. At night after a long work day, I can sit, relax and breathe in the smell of the fresh cedar boards.
My blessings are many, and among them are my family, friends and neighbors that took time to help me. This beautiful, new fence reminds me of lessons learned every time I look at it.
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