We've had this section of fence that's been falling down for years. (I really wish I was kidding about that. But I'm not.) So, I fixed it.
Fences make such rich metaphors, and we use them in all sorts of ways.
My body and mind worked together on this metaphor of fence building -- as in: strong fences make good neighbors. You know, boundaries.
I deconstructed the old fence and removed the wide variety of screws, nails, and various fasteners used over the years to try to hold it up.
I assessed what I had to work with and moved forward.
I got out my shovel and made level ground on which to put my fence.
I used what I had available. I didn't have any work gloves, so I used my gardening gloves to keep out the splinters.
The boards were weathered, but still sturdy. I replaced the supports.
I took it bit by bit, letting each step guide me to the next, based on intuition and common sense. What would make sense here? What is needed? What can I do today?
I asked for help finding the right hardware even though I didn't know what things were called. Whether I looked foolish could not be considered.
I put it all together with a sturdy tool I borrowed from a friend.
Is it perfect? Nope.
Could someone else have done a better job? Maybe.
Could someone else have done it faster? Probably.
Is it sturdy? Yes.
It's what was needed, and I did it.