By 1992, all the fences on our farm had been removed. There was still one fifteen-acre enclosed field for exercising the animals at our main barn, but the rest were gone. The cost of repair, changing necessity, and the larger implements used to till the soil all played into their removal.
Then, at 3:00 a.m. one summer morning in 1992, my doorbell rang. As I stumbled to the front door, I saw the flashing red and blue lights of a police cruiser. My heart sank as I quickly took inventory of my family in the house. Everyone was home. What was this?
As I opened the door, the officer asked, “Do you have cattle on this farm?”
I said, “Yes.”
He replied, “I think they’re out, and we’ve had a car hit one back on the state highway. We had to put it down.”
My next question was immediate. “How is the person who hit it?”
“They’re fine,” he said. “A little shaken up, but otherwise okay.”
A feedlot holding ninety head of cattle had somehow gotten out. An 1,100-pound steer had caught his head in a pipe gate, bending it and tearing it from its hinges. That opened the lot to the whole world. From that point on, there was no boundary. No fence to stop them. And because farms around us had removed their fences too, it became open range.
I grew up in an era when fences were everywhere on a farm. Each field was carefully outlined and measured by them. Fences represented boundaries, safety, and guidance.
Fencerows also provided habitat for all sorts of small animals—rabbits, birds, foxes, and groundhogs. They were a world unto themselves, a place to hide from predators and find shelter from storms. Quail and red-winged blackbirds were once a frequent sight on our farm. Their morning songs were part of the daily chorus of country life. But not so much anymore. Fences served a purpose far beyond simply keeping farm animals in.
It has often been said, “Good fences make good neighbors.”
I’ve often wondered if removing fences from the land mirrors what has happened in our culture. Ancient boundaries are now considered too narrow, too restrictive, too inconvenient, or simply not worth repairing. That may be the part that troubles me most. The old line fence that served generations is no longer worth the effort. And so we discard the ancient enclosures that once provided guidance and safety, and the world becomes an open range.
The Scriptures speak about fences as well. In Exodus 20, God gave ten of them. We know them as the Ten Commandments. In John 10, Jesus speaks of the sheepfold, the place where sheep find safety and protection from predators. It is the Good Shepherd who leads His sheep out and then safely brings them home again.
Perhaps, on deeper reflection, we may discover those very boundaries provide protection from predators, safety from unseen dangers, and a place where incredible life can flourish.
Grace and peace
Jarvis — From Soil To Soul