Sometimes you must break in
a new neighbor as you would
a young colt. This youngster,
just married, first time on his
own place spooked easily at my
casual suggestions. He’d tend
to his business, you tend to yours.
A little shaggy there, Buster,
I thought, you need to be curried
and have your mane trimmed.
His cows broke into my cornfield,
I drove them out, pieced the wire
enough to hold for the moment and
drove around and told him.
Too bad, he said, hope my cows don’t bloat.
What about my corn I asked.
Keep up your fence, he answered.
Fences are shared where properties join,
I told him, half yours, half mine.
What? he asked.
Look, I said, you walk around your farm
counterclockwise, the first half
of the fence on the right-hand side is yours.
We have eighty rods of fence
between us, forty rods is yours
and that is where your cows broke through.
He shook his head, I never knew it,
never knew it, he said.
I’ll help you fix it, I said,
won’t take long.
He kept shaking his head and muttering
an old farmer’s saying,
I don’t know enough to plant two to a hill,
not even two to a hill.
