For Thursday, July 30, 1998 Drummer Column, Gibbs, 719 words

A parable

I want to tell you a story about a man who built a fence.

The fence was long, 80 feet. It ran in a line from the edge of the street to the side of the man's new house, separating the man's property from that of his neighbor. The man's name was Bob.

Bob began his fence from the road at the edge of common ground. He strung a line from a stick on the street to the corner of his house and said, "I will build my fence in this direction." Bob opened the earth with his post digger, dug down two feet, and mounted his first pole on a Monday, near the sidewalk. It stood up straight a friendly three feet.

The first pole, being dug true, gave a firm start to Bob's fence. On Tuesday he felt strong and dug nine more holes. He toiled in the soil from dawn to dusk. From this great effort Bob created a lot of openings for himself.

On Wednesday he began filling his openings with lumber he had purchased from money he had earned. By day's end, Bob had sunk money and time into strong posts, dug deep with effort and sweat, all in a row, but separate. There were six more holes to dig, but Bob was eager to unite his existing work.

On Wednesday he brought out some lighter boards and linked his posts together. He tested this foundation from every side, throwing his weight against the lumber. It moved nowhere. Bob's fence was strong enough to support slats.

From afar, people could now see that Bob had started a fence. It was showing. Some waved.

On Thursday Bob decided to nail up enough slats to finish the first 50 feet of his fence before starting on the last 30 feet. After the first slat Bob realized that he needed help. It was difficult to balance and build while remaining level. He called on his son, Chet. "I can't do this alone anymore. Will you help?"

"Sure, Pops," said Chet and together they nailed all the slats into place. At the end of the day, Chet shook the fence and it held. He said, "Someday I can tell my son that his grandpa and I built this fence."

Friday Bob was perplexed. The last stretch of his fence ran close between two huge trees. While digging the third-to-last post hole, Bob hit a thigh-sized root from the tree on his neighbor's land. If he cut the root, the tree could die. He asked Chet for advice.

"I say, skip that post and run the crossbeams all the way to the next post. Then the fence will stay straight."

Bob rubbed his chin. "The fence would look good to people walking by, I admit." He walked out to the sidewalk and looked back at the fence with one eye closed. He strolled past the fence a few times from both sides of the street. Then he picked up his posthole digger and sunk a hole a foot off the line. The fence would have a crook; it would wrap around the tree.

Chet shrugged. "Whatever. It's your fence, Pops."

With the crook added in, Bob didn't have enough wood to finish his fence. So, instead, on Saturday, he made a gate. He left an opening in his fence next to his house.

Doris, the neighbor, a shy but extremely intelligent and humorous woman, had been watching Bob and Chet build the fence from her windows. When she saw that Bob had left a gate, she took it to mean he was inviting her to make friends.

On Sunday, while Chet and Bob and wife Madge were sitting on the front porch eating ice cream, Doris used the gate. She came over with a kiwi-lime pie and stood at the steps. "Might I eat with you, if I share my lime pie?"

Bob and Madge invited Doris to take a seat, and have ice cream. She did. She passed her pie around. Doris told them stories out of books and sang a song her grandfather had taught her called "Bill Rogen's Goat." Chet sang Doris a song he wrote. She loved it.

Along the street walked a man with a cane. He smiled at the fence.