Fences

I grew up in a planned community outside DC called Columbia. It was established by developer James Rouse in the 60’s and made a lot of social studies textbooks at the time for its landmark ideals. The spirit was to create a new way of living, a better way to integrate people with the land and with each other. Columbia was open to all people, race be damned and income be damned. It was where, at ten, I met my first interracial couple. The year was 1976.

So, about fences.

There were strict building codes in Columbia. All fencing had to be wooden, unpainted and split rail. The structure had to blend with the nature of the environment. To that end, all the homes were painted according to an earth tone palate, foliage was to be left untouched wherever possible, and bike paths would connect everybody to the mall at the center of town. Moving to Columbia you gave up a certain level of freedom as you bought into the Disneyfication of the place. I was in heaven.

I took Patti’s advice and watched a split-rail fence building video by a super nice guy, Jess Oppenheimer. The metaphors for building a fence, for building a life, abounded. Several jumped out at me like, are you building along your property line? Are you keeping your business to yourself? Another instruction made sure to call your utility so you weren’t splitting an underground cable. It’s not all about you, there are others in this community to think about. Are all the rail holes in the line posts, lined up? I can imagine getting so focused on the act of digging that only after the posts are buried do I notice that the holes are all facing out to the street. Or being so panicked and manic in my construction that I forget to use the plumb line resulting in fencing that slopes at a forty-five degree angle. Maybe I cut a few corners and decide not to dump gravel in the post holes. Meaning that water won’t be drained away from the posts and they will warp and rot before their time.

The discovery here is not to rush with a lot of ‘right now’ urgency. I get that one must tap that creative well when the sprit moves. I also get that at 55, time is ticking. But I can afford to pace myself for the marathon.