I broke a fence today. (Actually it wasn't today – this is a post I drafted earlier this week before the week got sidetracked, but more on that tomorrow.) Not this exact fence, this is a photo I took earlier. Same farm, different paddock.

I detatched the springy electric gate thingo (I am so exellently technical) and snap, the wire holding not one but three bits of corner fence together gave way. Rusted. It managed to hit Max on its way to the ground which he wasn't very impressed with as it was still on. As in, electricfied. Yelp. Whoopsie.

Dad was out. It was drizzling with rain. I was wearing Ivy in the backpack and I'd left Henry and Tilly with an ipod and an iphone back at the dairy parallel-playing Ninja Jump. 

I headed back down the paddock to the yards, found some pliers, found some wire, and remembered to turn off the fences at the mains. 

I walked back up the paddock to the busted fence. 

I tried to figure out how it had been configured before it disintegrated. I cleverly attached two bits together but not the fence. Had another go. Looked alright. Dogs wouldn't go near it. 

I stood back and it all looked pretty good, and I thought, I fixed it. 

Puffed out my chest just a little bit. The first fence I'd ever fixed. Not a big deal? No it's not, but in that moment I felt like a farmer. Doesn't matter how many bags of feed I've hauled, how many pigs I've fed, how many chickens I've moved or how many abattoirs I've talked to. Doesn't matter that I grew up there. I'm still a total rookie. I have no idea what I'm doing. 

But far out I really want it. 

Fixing that fence made me feel like I qualified to be there. 

I followed the dogs back to the yards. Picked up the kids, packed up and went home. 

When I saw Dad later that night at Tilly's preschool concert I told him about the fence. He nodded and said, 'you turned it back on?'

Oh. Crap. 

Cough. 'So, you think the cows'll get out?'

'Hope not,' he said. 






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