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| Story ID: | 1682 |
| Written by: | Cynthia Jo Ross (bio, contact, other stories) |
| Organization: | Lens to the Past |
| Story type: | Family History |
| Writers Conference: | $500 2007 Family Memories Writing Project |
| Location: | El Dorado Kansas USA |
| Year: | 1960 |
| Person: | myself |
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Don’t Fence Me In I’m not one to like fences, but I do know they have a place in life. When I was young my family lived in the country north of El Dorado, Kansas. Over the years cattle would escape the fenced pasture they were in. My dad would ask me to stand near our garden and wave my arms to keep the cattle from trampling the vegetables. Invariably a wild eyed steer would charge right at me and I’d dash for cover behind the closest tree. I always thought the three stranded barbwire pasture fence should have been build a little higher. Our farm house had another wire fence around the yard. This fence was probably meant to keep us kids within sight of the house. Strangely enough the gate was always left open. Even on the side yard there was a large opening in the fence where a gate might have been at one time, but now long gone. Within a half mile of our home, just across the front pasture, the Kansas turnpike cut through the countryside with long lines of extra strong fences on both sides of the highway. One night just before bedtime there came a knock on our front door. A man was standing there asking for help. His car had run out of gas and he was hoping we might help him. Our light in the window was the only one he could see for miles around. I always wondered how much effort it took to climb that tall fence. Later I wept when my dog in an attempt to keep up with the school bus took a shortcut across the turnpike and was killed by a car. The end pole of the fence didn’t connect with the road bridge, leaving a gap for my dog to squeeze through. Another fence on the property was an electric fence to keep the pigs in. It was a one strand fence with white insulators connected to metal stakes or rods pounded into the dirt. Thankfully this fence was low enough to the ground that even at the age of ten I could jump it with ease using a scissor-legged leap. I felt a freedom being able to jump that fence, especially knowing there was adventure on the other side just waiting to be found. One of my fondest memories as I grew older, around twelve years of age, is of walking the cattle paths through the pastures near our family’s home. I felt a peacefulness along those paths, with snakes, insects, wildflowers, birds, and the wide open sky overhead. Clouds drifted by and it was then I realized I couldn’t have asked for a better playground, without a fence in sight. It was true freedom. |
