Invisible Fence
Invisible Fence The weatherman did not account for how cicada chirrups raise the forecast of extreme heat another ten degrees, and I did not account for how long Georgia clay retains the rain when I told Wayne at Dependo Rent-All we needed the Ditch Witch just four hours. Every twenty feet or so we stopped and Dad used the broken handle of a hoe to clear the blades of clay. We’d blink the sting of salt away and sip a High Noon while eyeing what’s left of the acreage, then trade and drag another stretch. It was a day, and looking back a good one, accounting for how the smallest chink in the circuit shuts the whole thing down and we lose what we always thought would be there, invisible as a bluetick reclining on the welcome mat.