Sunday, February 22, 2009

Fixing Fences

I spent Valentines day digging through the snow, looking for the break in my radio dog fence. I was pretty resentful about it.  Somehow I've got in my head that fences are for husbands to fix - like the trash is his to take out! I'm not sure why I think that - I've always been in charge of the fences. Horse fences & dog fences in all kinds of weather.

So why didn't I just refuse to do it? Let someone else fix it? I was thinking about that the other day, as I was driving down the freeway. It got me to thinking about how the work got done on the ranch when I was growing up. Here's the thing: I have NO memories of my dad doing the manual labor.  I have a few pictures of him with a shovel in his hand, but no actual memories.

My memories are of my mom. Irrigating ditches, fixing fences, rounding up cattle, helping cows calve. I used to follow her around while she did these things. I'm willing to guess that she was pretty resentful about doing all that stuff. Mom was an intellectual, she loved opera. She knew everything.

I don't think there was much opera available in the town near where we lived. Certainly not many fabulous intellects to have conversations with. 

So what does this have to do with me fixing fences on Valentines day? Everything. I'm following my Mother's example. If something needed doing, she did it. Like it or not. So when the fence is broken and the husband says "they're your dogs," I go out and start digging.

It's who I am.