Building a straight 40-foot wire fence proved to be a lot more complicated than expected. V and I planned a simple low fence to divide the backyard into two sections: one area for our vegetables and the other for a brick patio. We wanted something that would keep Cricket from digging in the garden beds, but we wanted it to be unobtrusive.
However, our attempt to build one has magnified the divergent approaches that V and I have towards home projects.
I am a planner and a percolator. I like to do a lot of research and then consider all my options. I also like to talk it through. Sometimes all this planning means that I lose steam before I even get started because I am overwhelmed by possibilities.
V, on the other hand, just wants to get things done. Often this is wonderful because he accomplishes more in one day than most people do in a week. He usually has a list or a plan in his head, and he likes to stick to it. Problems arise, however, when he forgets to tell me what is going on in his head or I bore him to death with my over-analysis of minutia.
The other day, we put up some curtains on the window of the upstairs landing. The curtains were too long, and the fabric pooled on the floor ready to trip someone down the stairs. I wanted to take the curtains down, measure and hem them. V just laughed at me and suggested we leave them hanging and cut off the extra section. He knew I would take forever to figure out how short I wanted to make them.
The curtains are horribly crooked, but I have to admit that sliding the sharp blades along the silky fabric and hearing it rip was kind of fun. I am only slightly bothered by the raggedy edges that confront me every time I climb the stairs. That's because I know that I can always fix it. For now, I am enjoying the fact that our neighbors won't be able see us dashing out of the shower to the bedroom whenever we forget a towel.
The fence, however, is another story. This story involves me coming home one afternoon to find the fence posts spaced 5 ft apart on one side of the gate and 6ft apart on the other. It also involves a bit of shouting and stomping, and V insisting that I wouldn't have noticed anyway. The story ends with little cartoon light bulbs flashing over our respective heads when we realize what went wrong and some sheepish apologies to V's family who had driven from Salem to help.
So for now, the fence is on hiatus. We've decided to move on to the chicken coop first, even though we need a fence soon. The spindly starts are asking to be transplanted ASAP.