Bringing Down The Fence

Before the escrow papers were signed on our current house, my husband Dennis and I agreed on the following: The old fence had to go. Top of the list. A Sears product from the 1950s, the chain link barrier between us and our neighbors stood about 4 feet high. Over time, vines had wound their way around the metal openings, softening its appearance, yet it was still too short to provide any real privacy.

But as every property owner knows, initial home improvement dreams have a tendency to slip away. Almost from the first moment we moved into the house, our son, Joe, who was then a five-year old, befriended Dusty, the boy living on the other side of the fence. Joe and Dusty began to carry on lengthy and important discussions through holes in the chain link. Having just arrived in the neighborhood, Dennis and I sensed that immediately erecting a taller, more private barrier between us and Dusty's family might seem a tad rude, especially since Joe was marching forth with such neighborly goodwill. We turned our attention to other projects, and the fence continued to stand tall --just not tall enough.

Eventually Dusty moved away, and our dreams of replacing the chain link resurfaced. But inertia, an amazingly powerful force, had taken root, impinging on our ability to act the moment the new neighbors arrived. As luck would have it, rather than playmates, they brought a dog named Kilo, a huge fluffy Samoyed. Kilo took up residence in the very spot that Dusty had vacated, and my two boys grew fond of her. Soon we acquired our own dog, and Kilo, a good-natured canine, befriended our new puppy, Zephyr. They nuzzled noses through the chain link and greeted each other every morning.

Over time, I came to understand that the dilapidated, low-slung fence was not really a four-foot eyesore, but a means of facilitating communication -- between kids, between dogs, between kids and dogs, and sometimes between the overworked adults. My grandparents' yard had featured a very similar Sears-brand fence. As a young child, I spent countless hours with my grandmother. I can still see myself handing wooden clothespins up to her while she hung her clothes to dry and chatted over the fence with the neighbor, Mrs. Worley, who was simultaneously hanging her own laundry. Dennis and I eventually forgot about the replacing the fence, and the years passed. Who cares if I had a very good view into my neighbors' bathroom window while standing at my kitchen sink. I just needed to do the neighborly thing and avert my eyes.

But at long last, there is a time to every purpose, and more than a decade later, the time for our new fence was nigh. Kilo had died some years earlier, and her owners, who had enlarged their family by two new babies while living next door to us, eventually sold the property. We had new neighbors for the third time. They brought a little girl, but no dog, which meant no new friend for Zephyr. Since Zephyr was the only one among us who would have still benefited from a fence buddy, I started thinking one more time of tearing down the chain link.

Dennis and I began to plan. But what should our new fence look like? What material was best? How tall should it be? Almost immediately, we realized that if we replaced the fence, the rest of our neglected yard would look even worse by comparison. Our problem was much bigger than just a stretch of chain link. The brick patio was shabby, the grass was weedy and brown, and we had no real place for ping-pong. Aside from Dennis's annual tomato crop, our yard was not a space we used. We didn't gathered there, entertain there, or relax there, presumably because the yard needed a serious face lift. Without question, we needed professional landscaping help, which resulted in another year or two of floundering as we adjusted to the idea of the staggering cost and scale of such an undertaking. Then I got breast cancer, which actually pushed us into action. If not now, when? So, after some more searching for a contractor, we hired Tom, a landscaper who agreed to build a new fence, give us a new patio with room for ping-pong, and help us with some planting.

After 15 years in our house, the summer of '08 became the summer of the yard project. The chain link was demolished and hauled out in July, and a new wooden fence was erected in its place. Standing 6 feet tall, this fence is beautifully designed and stained a rich chocolate brown. (Our current neighbors are benefiting, too, since I no longer have a clear view of their bathroom window.) Our shabby brick patio was carefully deconstructed, and the bricks were reused to form a ribbon around a new expanse of bluestone. Rather than being in full sun, the patio was reconfigured to take advantage of the yard's natural areas of shade. We also added a little river rock sitting wall under the trees. Finally, in a wild moment of inexplicable enthusiasm, I let Tom talk me into installing an edible garden around the patio's edges. While Dennis is an avid tomato gardener, I tend to let the upkeep of green things slip. I'm good at the mom thing, and I can definitely cook, but I've historically gotten a little bored with the botany. Plant life has been known to wither under my watch.

But not this time! This time I'm fully committed to tending to the herbs, peppers, grape vines, and lettuces that Tom has brought over. I plan to cook and eat my way through all of it. Stop laughing! I can do this. I'm on a quest for my inner gardener. Besides, we live on a feverish planet, and we can all do more to cool it down, even if we have to step outside to do it.

Finally, I think that growing things that I will later devour is symbolic for me in all of those cyclical rebirth and renewal kind of ways. This garden is a post-cancer, stop-and-smell-the-compost, one-more-year-until-I-have-an empty-nest, midlife undertaking. So come along and let's see if I can pull this off. If you promise to keep reading, I promise to post recipes. Are you with me?