King of the Castle.

Every summer it happened like clockwork. My father would declare a particular day to be a "fencing day." And, no, this was not about sword fighting! 

Invariably, it would always be a day of wonderful weather. A day I could have really enjoyed as a day of play! Who want's to be sweating out there in the sun when you could be playing in your shaded sandbox, or living in your imagination? I could be spending the day imagining myself as a scout sneaking up on my enemy soundlessly, through the tall grain I'm crawling through. Only to get it from my dad a week later who suddenly would be on a rampage because he noticed a mysterious trail of broken wheat in his "precious" grain field! (I know, still a little bit of stuff there!)

From my perspective as a kid, the only a few good things about fencing. One was getting to go out, away from the farmyard into the open prairie. Usually along some side-road, trail or even just out in the middle of nowhere. Once the tractor was shut off the silence was overwhelming. Bird sounds like the song of the meadowlark became music to the ears. The rustling of the wind moving the grass. The dust-devils crossing the prairie in the hot sun were simply magical.

The other best part was lunch time. Here my father and I sat down on he edge of the wagon, opened the big black barn-shaped lunch box to see what mom had made for us. It was not just the food, which was good, but also the breaking of bread with my dad. It was one of the few times I might connect with him in some way. My dad was always "doing" something and so I often felt distant from him. I yearned for his personal attention, approval and affection. Having a meal alone with him was for me always a hope that I might "connect" with him in some meaningful way.

The thing I really dreaded about fencing was the knowledge that one day, I would be called on to wield that sledge-hammer. When my father used this tool there never seemed to be any issues. He stood on the wagon parked alongside the fence. He placed the pre-sharpened fence-post into the water filled hole he'd prepared. Then holding the post in position with his left hand, he'd give the post a light tap or two, to set it in place, with the sledge hammer in his right hand. He would eye the post, lean forward to make sure it lined up with the tops of the row of posts along the fence. (It had to be a straight fence!) Wiggle the top of the post into place and tap it again two or three times to make it sit in just the right alignment. Then he would step back and in one smooth motion, let the sledge swing down, his hands sliding together to the end of the shiny wooden handle, the hammer without wavering, moving in an arc, hesitating behind him, then accelerating, arcing over his head, connecting sharply with the top the fence-post, driving it onto the ground, muddy water squirting up from the hole. Then, pulling the hammer off the post, let it fall repeating the process in a continual rhythmic cadence, until the post stood in the position it would be destined to hold for several years ahead. Until an erring animal pushed it over or rot would seal it's fate.

To my surprise, my dad, took the crowbar and began moving down off the wagon and along the fence-line to make new holes for posts. He left me on the wagon with the assignment to hammer in fence-posts. Since, he said, I'd seen him do it often, this should be no problem! One thing he emphasized  "Make sure the posts are in line with the existing fence."

I felt a rush as he moved down off the wagon. My day had come. It reminded me of the game, "king of the castle", for some reason I was now king of my own castle. This wagon, with all the stuff on it was "mine!" I'd knock in those posts, start and drive the tractor up the line for the next post. Wow. I looked around my castle and I was excited. This was the life!

Now, I thought, what do I do first?

"Then a new king, to whom Joseph meant nothing, came to power over Egypt."      Exodus 1:8

Autobiographical Fiction by Cliff Derksen

Finally, spring has sprung!