Good Fences ... Past Prime

I posted about a little mystery solved a while back here.  It was a pleasure to locate this small point and the former home (now removed) of the author of a book I read "A Life in the Bush".  As we crept along the path that followed the rocky shore of Lake of Two Rivers, we almost missed seeing an old fence now being absorbed into the landscape of pine trees and rocks.

I want to read the book again as I seem to recall mention of a fence here.  A fence to keep the young children from going too close to the lake water while the mother attended to daily chores.

Keeping track of children when you're surrounded by water must have been a chore in itself.  This point has smooth rocks at the shoreline ... both an invitation to play, and a danger should you slip and fall into the dark waters.  This fence must have been quite stout and secure in it's prime.  The fact that a portion of it is still standing after so many years through blazing hot summers and sub-zero winters is proof.  There are remnants of posts and rails scattered below this small rise.

 

I think everyone who has passed this bent spike has had a try at twisting it free.  But like King Arthur's sword, it remains locked in the wood until the right time, or until the right person can pull it out. 

 

The wire portion of the fence still has spring in it and made the "sproing!" that wire fences sing when you step on them.  The sound instantly took me back to my childhood when we would climb over the farmers' fences to hike through the fields and along the escarpment.  Such a familiar sound, not so often heard by me anymore.

 

The bolts on this fence were put in good and solid.  Can't you just imagine the original fence builder, home owner, tightening that bolt one last turn and thinking to himself "There! That's got it! It'll hold for years".  Well satisfied with the fence being built he turned himself to other matters and the fence did it's job for more years than he ever imagined ... and now that bolt, still tight, will forever sit here in this spot with the wood rotting beneath it.  The wire tangled around it.  The pine needles slowly covering it.  Until it's completely lost, just like the reason for building that fence in the first place.