Family, Home, Life

How to Build a Picket Fence

Kari

On the drive home after dropping Anna off at college, I felt an ache I wasn’t expecting. It was the kind that makes you want to keep your hands busy so your mind doesn’t sit still long enough to notice it. Somewhere in the middle of corn fields in central Illinois, I decided I needed a project.

A picket fence.

And I knew exactly who I wanted to build it with: my dad.

He has built a lot of picket fences over the years—for family, neighbors, friends. Always steady. Always precise. Always like it wasn’t something difficult at all, just something that made sense in his hands.

I asked him to help me build one in my front yard, lining the walk to our door. By mid-October, nothing had happened. Life had simply gotten in the way.

Then one day, like a hardware store fairy, he pulled into my driveway with boards, cement, and all the pieces it seemed we would need. He had even made the pickets himself.

Some skills are inherited. Some are learned. And some, I think, are absorbed just by growing up near them.

On the first day, my dad and Mike set the posts while I fetched supplies and took pictures, doing a little digging when I could. By evening, there was the beginning of a fence in the ground.

Yes, those are flats with socks I am wearing. DID I MENTION THERE WAS A LOT OF DIGGING AND IT WAS 45 DEGREES??

the dog crying incessantly from the house because mommy was outside without him.

The next day, it was just my dad and me.

Windy. Cold. The kind of damp 40-degree rain that makes everything feel slightly more dramatic than it needs to be.

My patient dad patiently lining up the pickets to make sure they were even.
Pencil lines to mark where the pickets go. In the rain.

He was patient in the way he always is. When I held a picket the wrong way and he had to pull nails and redo it, he didn’t rush me or make it a thing. He just fixed it and kept going.

At one point, I remember thinking I was deeply unqualified for both fence building and survival in general, and then immediately being grateful that he seemed completely unbothered by that fact.

I kept thanking the universe for him that day. For a father who shows up when you’re in a quiet kind of heartbreak and builds something beside you anyway.

When we finished, I felt something settle. Not dramatic. Just a sense of having done something real with my hands, next to someone I trust.

A few days later, Ella and I painted the fence together. She asked about Papa’s skills, and why he builds fences at all.

I told her it’s just how he is. Patient. Steady. The kind of love that doesn’t announce itself but shows up and does the work anyway.

Every time I look at the fence now, I think of him. Not as a symbol of anything big, but as a record of a few cold days where we built something together.

Something simple.

Something that will stay.

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21 thoughts on “How to Build a Picket Fence”

  1. Aw, “your” fence story is making me tear up. It does look very well made though and I am thoroughly impressed with the string and the leveling and all that. Glad you got to spend some quality time with your dad!

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  3. I’m so glad you had that time with him and a daily reminder of his awesomeness. Patience is a virtue and I’m in awe of people who can work through conditions that would have me screaming and cursing. It’s a gift. (This weekend, I literally went to the basement and screamed at the top of my lungs after throwing hedgehog napkins in the package across the room when a recipe tanked.) My dad had the construction gene (he’s an engineer) but I got bits and pieces. Just enough to be dangerous but not enough to be handy. It’s also good Ella got involved because she takes some ownership in it too. (BTW, I told my hubby about the name of your school, he said that was the most awesome thing ever.)

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    1. Maybe on the pontoon cruise, we can have some sort of STEM workshop to improve our skills.
      Or just drink. Yes, I like that much better.

      Tell your husband he has really good taste. :)

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  4. Ah, I love this one! I have a dad who sounds a lot like yours. Mine was a machinist, which requires one to be very very VERY particular about things. I did not necessarily inherit that trait. He has the tidiest workshop I’ve ever seen, and nothing is ever kinda busted at his house. I aspire to be more like that. It could happen!

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  6. This post straight up has me crying. It’s so beautiful. Also, that fence is gorgeous! Dads are awesome. Well, not my dad, but your dad! Sort of kidding. My dad is awesome in his own way, just not the come over and build a fence kind of way. I’ve always wanted a picket fence, and now that I have a house, we’ve been talking about building one. I didn’t realize it was so much work! I mean sure everyone has told me it is. But there is something different about actually seeing it.

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    1. SO MUCH WORK. My dad helped my ex-husband build one at my former home years ago and I didn’t help that time, so I had no clue how much work was involved. It makes me appreciate it so much more!

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  11. The gentle rustle of leaves against your picket fence, carried on the breeze like a whispered secret, lends it a sense of life and vitality that is as enchanting as it is comforting, a soothing melody that serenades the soul.

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