Fences dictate labor to those who have them built or who build them. Every time I work on a fence I am reminded of the ironic discussion between the narrator and the neighbor in Robert Frost’s poem, “Mending Wall.” In the final twenty lines of the poem the neighbor quotes his father’s saying: “Good fences make good neighbors.” The narrator follows the statement with an introspective consideration.
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
Upon which the narrator offers the neighbor a reply:
Why do they make good neighbors? ….
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That wants it down.
And finally the neighbor, who
“… will not go behind his father’s saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says it again, ‘Good fences make good neighbors.’
Everything here, so far, is true; especially once the perception of land has changed from open range to private ownership. Perimeter fences both separate and unite neighbors in their common interests. Interior fences, however, remain the sole responsibility of the owner. People build interior fences according to their own needs, theories and whims.
In the Great Plains, as elsewhere, lots of things regarding a fence, “wants it down.” There is frost or hunters, as the poem suggests; but there is also wind and snow and tumbleweeds and trees or limbs that fall across the wires of these artificial boundaries. Staples work their way out of wooden posts and the wire clips on steel posts come undone for a hundred reasons. Fences begin by being labor intensive, and that never changes. A non-labor intensive fence is a neglected fence–having more permeability than it was ever intended to have.
Permeability in a fence is planned and built in. Some animals have permitted free access: rabbits, deer, badgers and the like. Cattle, sheep, horses, and perhaps, buffalo, are generally deterred (at least that is the idea) from passing through freely. That is why there are gates–controlled access. The gates permit us to rotate the buffalo from pasture to pasture providing the best grazing for the animals and giving each pasture a rest from grazing.
On occasion I have the opportunity to sit and watch the buffalo. I do not understand what they do, when they do it. I notice that they use the entire pasture, whatever its size, at different times of the day: they will sleep in one area and by mid-morning be somewhere else, and in the afternoon–elsewhere. They use every part of the pasture every day. They frequently move as a group, and they sometimes separate into what looks like clans.
I try to extrapolate from my observations to speculate about what the movement of buffalo prior to fences must have been. Did they migrate en masse as do emperor Penguins, or caribou, Canada Geese, Wildebeests, and Sand Hill Cranes? Did they have limits to their ranges–established territories within which they could wander as herd units, one relatively separate from another? Did these herds (my assumption) intermix temporarily, thus protecting their genetic strength and diversity? I cannot answer these questions. Every group of buffalo in this country today is behind a fence, and every fenced in every area has failed at one time or another. Witness the controversy at Yellowstone National Park between Wyoming and Montana.
Perhaps Robert Frost’s narrator in “Mending Wall” is on to something:
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall
That wants it down.
Even so, no fences is not an option.
Comments 7
DR. GERVASE, DO REMEMBER ME? THIS IS GREAT WORK!
SO Very true, as any longtime bullrider, cowgirl, animal, or other free-range loving creature of the Maker knows, only too well. Thanks for a short return to reality, away from the Concrete Jungle. Breathe a deep one for me, today, if you have the chance!
Thanks BJ, I need something like that once in a while. I guess we all do. I’m glad to be of service if, for a moment, I can help someone leave the “Concrete Jungle.”
ZURAIDA,
Of course I remember you. Thanks for the comment.
Ps. I am having difficulty replying to the address given. Please e-mail me again.
Gervase,
Good to know you’re still thinking about poetry – I remember your passion in a Romatic Lit course I took back in 1971. I often teach “Mending Wall” at Albertus Magnus College and quote the line “I’d like to know what I was walling in or walling out.” Leads to a discussion on the kinds f wall and fences we build – wall rich folk into gated communities, wall out…well whoever the wall builders want to wall out. Some students get it. Some don’t. Please keep writing – I just found the web page and will bookmark it.
Forgetting about poetry would be a little like forgettng about the Marine Corps—at least for me. I always liked the line about “the mischief in me.” The speaker seems to have his tongue in his cheek, basically through the entire poem. I’m glad you found the site. Thanks for writing. All students “get it’; sometimes it takes a little longer than we would want it to. Have a great day Bill.
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Gervase,
Since you quoted the “mischief” line, I thought I’d send this on: “Spring on the Farm” is a poem I wrote – very loosely inspired by experiences we had on our six-acre farm here in CT – which was just one of of four accepted and used in “Stories From the Other Side,” a new textbook.
Bill Earls
Spring on the Farm
Winter was tough: the three-day blizzard followed
The two-day blizzard and it took a payloader to dig through to the barn
Where the sheep were grumpy and new lambs whimpered in the cold – two died.
The wood stove smoked – the house smells like we’d had a fire –
And the den needs washing and painting;
Some of the stuff we canned went bad –
No one got sick, but I dumped 40 quarts of tomatoes suddenly turned gray.
Now spring is here – blossoms, grass and croci – and things aren’t much better:
Ice buildup ruined gutters and the roof leaks
Just about where the squirrels are nesting
And running around at three in the morning.
The driveway’s muddy and potholed, the town snowplow
Wiped out 100 yards of windbreak, and the upper orchard,
After the ice storm, needs four days of pruning.
The lower orchard is worse
Except we can’t get there: snowmelt
Pooled for three days and washed the access road into Cable Brook.
It’ll take twenty loads of gravel, Charlie thinks,
“When I can get to it,” which is probably August.
Cows flattened a fence, trampled
The raspberries and got sick on new growth in the pasture;
Three lambs are missing – the neighbor’s dog, I think – and the
Tractor flywheel just busted. There’s none in stock,
The dealer says, “A week…if you’re lucky…they’re made in China now,”
Like it’s my fault farm equipment went overseas with software
And fabrics. Not enough I got planting to do, shearing to do, fencing to erect:
Now the balance of payments is my fault. Spring put a mischief in somebody
Besides Robert Frost, I think. All of a sudden January’s lookin’ good again.
I hope the line scheme comes out in whatever format you read. Again, my best to all.