Thursday, June 21, 2012

Building Fences

I wrote a blog post a few months ago about my Aunt Mavis celebrating her life.  Her husband, Uncle Gayle to me, died a few weeks ago.  Both of their urns were transported up to Northwest Kansas a few days ago and were buried in a country cemetery.  This cemetery is quite remote--miles from any little town. Generations of Hunters are buried there.

This picture isn't of the cemetery.  It is a picture of the land that Aunt Mavis and Uncle Gayle owned.

That would be past tense. Not only in death but in land deed reality.  The land was sold after Aunt Mavis died.

When I was 13, my Aunt and Uncle came up from Houston, Texas to build a fence on this land.  I was expected to help, and boy, did I.  My Dad was in seminary training and about ready to become a full-time minister.  But he was home at the time.

You might look at this picture and think this is nothing but straight, run along flat land.  That would be a wrong guess.

A turn to the right would reveal a little country road using switchbacks for trucks to get up a hill.  A turn to the left, a ravine so deep that the sun might not shine on some spots.  Looks are deceiving.

I remember heat, sweat, dust, digging post holes into pure rock, standing at a 45 degree angle to be straight, ticks galore, swinging a hammer, stringing barbed wire, and thirst that seemed to go on for many days straight.  Miles of fence building.

Picking off 10 ticks out of my hair each day was the norm.

But I learned a few lessons.  Hard work, despite a few ticks, creates accomplishment. Working as a team makes a insurmountable task possible.  Muscles you never knew existed became a learned fact.  Learning how to balance a hammer, pliers and yourself all at the same time.  And that looks are deceiving.