So, I hadn't planned on asking Patrick for help with this. I try to limit the things for which I request his help to things wayyy beyond my ken. And, though I'd never fenced before, I assumed I could handle it. I knew how to use a circular saw, and a drill. How hard could it be?
Patrick must've been watching from a window when I attempted to attach the first board. With my right hand, I attempted to hold the end of a 12-foot-long piece of lumber in place on the fence post. With my left, I tried to simultaneously hold the screw in place, keep it upright, and pull the trigger on the cordless drill.
The screw slipped, the bit fell out, the end of the board came down on my foot. I may have said a bad word.
Patrick came out, took over the drill, and two and a half hours later, we had our fence. I took a picture this morning, with that gorgeous early spring morning sun struggling up over the sugar maples in bud:
(The shadow person is me.) I'm in love with this fence! It might not be everybody's idea of beauty, but it measures up to mine. The beauty of rustic vernacular architecture combined with the beauty of a secure and productive garden? Yes please.
We ran 4-foot-high welded wire all around the square before attaching the boards, because, let's face it, the boards aren't really there to keep anything out. They're there to make it look pretty. I can't wait for my potatoes to get here so I can put them in the ground.
My north-facing office window looks directly out onto this slice of heaven. It's a sight that makes deadline logjams (like the one I have right now) so hard to commit to. I try to write, I get frustrated, I get up and pace and stand at my window. I look at that greening yard, and those emerging daffodils (and weeds) and I decide I can spare an hour. Just an hour. So it goes.