We have no fence between us and our neighbors. We had a fence, an ugly chain-link fence. Chain-link can be beautiful in a utilitarian sort of way when adorned by sweet peas or hidden by plumbago, but when it is not, chain-link is like prison; you’re inside the gates, no matter what side of the gates you’re on.
“Herb, we’re going to take the fence down,” the neighbors said awhile back. “We hope you like the new one.”
I do. They have good taste, which usually means somebody’s taste agrees with your own. That may not mean it’s good taste, but it’s good enough.
A friend reminded me that in certain parts of the country, there are no fences. These are bigger lots of course and usually there are woods and boundaries melt into one another.
There are no woods in Bakersfield. We barely have trees. Woods imply trees standing next to one another in close proximity and our trees keep their distance like mountain lions.
Woods or not, being fenceless is like conducting a social experiment. It’s casting caution and the detente that fences often afford people on either side of them to the wind. This experiment might work and usher in a new era of neighborhood harmony or someone could end up dead.
If somebody ends up dead, either through natural causes or outright murder, the good thing about not having a fence is that the deceased does not have to lie there for days and risk mummification or develop sun spots because everything is in full view.
“I’ll be darned. Do you think something is wrong with Herb? He’s lying face down in the turf.”
Without a fence, you have to be “on” when you find yourself in the backyard at the same time as your neighbors. There is no hiding behind a mild hangover, morning bleariness or spring allergies.
Pretend you’re teaching six hours of class via Zoom to junior high students. Yell at them. Tell them how happy you are to see them, really see them.
Smile so hard that your eyebrows merge and your teeth jut out like a DVD tray. Tell them you love what they’re doing to the place now that you can see everything they’re doing to the place every minute of the day.
Without a fence, you may want to change the way you dress. Being naked is not out but you may want to do it in bursts. Stand at the door, look left, look right and then sprint to your Jacuzzi, garage, outdoor shower, hose bib and then hoof it back, pumping your arms like you’re milking a cow. If your neighbors choose that moment to come out their back door freeze, drop to the ground or jump over the roof.
If the reverse happens, and you are clothed and they are naked, be nonchalant and pretend that it’s no big deal. Clothes are like fences. Aren’t we on the other side of that?
Life moves on, which in this case means that fences are going back up. Post holes have been dug and posts erected and cemented. Two-by-fours, secured to the top and bottom rails, now have fence boards nailed across them. With an experienced crew, a fence goes up quickly, gracefully and almost magically.
Soon this experiment will come to an end and we will return to a life with more privacy. It’s good in many ways, but in some ways fences are fences of their own.
March 14, 2021 at 04:00PM
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HERB BENHAM: Fences of our own - The Bakersfield Californian
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Herb
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