The Art of Wattle Fence Making

Subtitled: Look at That Woman Cussing Out Those Tree Limbs.

Chapter one: In the Beginning.

I have been talking about making a wattle fence for about 6 months now. Or something like that time frame. In the early spring my mother called and asked if I wanted tree limbs from one of their rental properties. Me and my childish enthusiasm said yes. Oh the sweet bliss of being ignorant in the ways of tree limb collecting.

I arrived at the property early afternoon, and we loaded up the bed of the truck with as much of those limbs as possible. It took 2 trips to get the bulk of it. The loading wasn't so bad, I had help with that. It was coming home and needing to unload them that caused my first round of incoherent tree limb slander to emerge from my mouth.

I have seen people that are more experienced than I in the tree limb moving process, grab a branch or two and the entire truck load effortlessly flows from the bed. I however was unable to imitate this phenomenon. I was struck, scratched, gouged and slapped as I attempt to pull them off. It took time, but eventually I did get them unto the ground, into an unsightly pile in the front of my house. The I proceeded to allow them to age. Ok, I didn't want to deal with the limbs anymore, let them rot where they sit!

But no, I can't do that. I have a husband that reminded me that I was the one that wanted a wattle fence. I am the one that must deal with them. Next time I have a bright idea that requires lots of labor, could you please stop me.

Chapter Two: Cutting and sorting

This will be the last chapter that I publish for now. Time is not on my side, but a sharp tree limb is, ouch.

I bought a new pair of snips. Mine are old, dull and rusty, never mind the fact that they are awkward to hold with only one hand. I found a nice shinny green pair, and declared them mine as I handed over the money. Mine! I repeated as I walked into the homestead. Mine! You shall not be permitted to use my new, sharp and shinny, snipers! HA! How wrong a woman can find herself amid a houseful of males. But I was lucky, for I was the first one to use them.

And use them I did. Merrily I trimmed this odd branch, and the broken one. Slowly piles of limbs assorted by thickness emerged from the wooden chaos. The day wore on, my face burned, my head sweating under the leather cowboy hat I was wearing to keep said sun off my face. The pile of chaos seemed to loom over me larger then before, while my nice and neat pile looked sad in comparison.

Can I hear a "woe is me"?

Frustration built and then suddenly exploded. May the cat eat you and the cat be eaten by the devil! I cursed at the limbs.

I am finished for now. But they sit, waiting for me to return. I know they have plans to reproduce in chaos while I am attentive on the trimming.