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November 16, 2000 - A fond farewell to an old fenceThe Suffolk Times • November 16, 2000 fond farewell THERE COMES A TIME WHEN even the best things fail. So it is with my old split -rail fence that runs along the west side of our pasture. Rot has done its job where the fence posts meet the ground. Here the conditions are just right for the fun-, gus and bacteria Focus and other myste- rious agents to ON do their timeless' NATURE job of decompo- sition. These Stoutenburgh agents of decay are everywhere; in the air, in the soil, in the water. All they need is a food supply such as my fence posts and a reasonable amount of warmth and you have the ingredi- ents for decay. All is variable; some posts yield to the great equalizer, decay, sooner than others. Years ago when we first built our house there was still a trace of a ditch and its accompanying mound of soil, that designated one of the boundary lines of the property. It also served as a fence to keep the cattle out of the farmland. There are many places here on Long Island where a sharp eye can see these dug fences that served our early settlers so well. One of the best examples of these hand -dug boundary fence lines is still visible on Robins Island. It's plainly seen just west of the north -south road that runs down the middle of the island. The early_ settlers were ingenious people and.came up with many ver- sions of fences that did not require digging at all. The laborious and clev- to an old fence Suffolk Times photo by Paul Stoutenburgh Time catches up with old fences like old horses. Today both are gone. Nothing lasts forever. Today's modern fences are often pressure treated with wood preservative, making them much more resistant to rot and decay. England farmer, still visible today, are perfect examples. Once when I was taking a conserva- tion course at Cornell we were taken to a place that had a unique fence made up of tree stumps. These chest- nut stumps were literally twisted and pulled out of the earth, then lined up in a tight row, making an impenetra- ble fence. Over the years each farmer, depending on what resources were available, built his version of the all - important fence. Before the small gasoline engine was invented, all post holes for fences were dug by hand. I still have the old screw -type hand digger my father used to set the locust posts for our original house in Fleets Neck back in the early '30s. Today there are still many versions of hand - operated post hole diggers, some work on the principle of the screw, others work by using two han- dles that open and close as you bring the soil up to the surface. In my case I borrowed a motor -driven post -hole digger from my son that in less than an hour dug the first 20 deep holes in the hard, dry earth of the back pas- ture. Thank goodness for my son -in- law and grandson, who provided the muscle power to operate the digger. The posts and rails needed for the fence came ,from a horse farm that had been converted into a vineyard. So you see, once again, resources that are available at the time are what make up a fence. Now all we had to do was drop in the posts, fill in arounc tnem ana we were reaay for the naits. There is a right and a wrong way to put the rails on; it all depends on whal the fence is going to be used for. If it's just for looks, they go on the outside where they will probably look nicer. I1 it's a fence that's going to keep ani- . mals in, the rails are attached inside sc that when the animals push against the rails the_ posts take the pressure and the rails are not pushed ou Once the holes were dry and the posts in place, Barbara and I measured, cu and hammered the rails on. It was during those splendid fall days when the sun paint ed our world with every shade of yellow that hickory and oak leaves can produce. From early morning to high noon, to the late afternoon, our world bathed itself in yellow. Even when we went in for a break, its glow followed us indoors. At one point we just quit fencing and headed for the boat that still had "miles to go." As we headed out into the creek the taste of fall was every- where. Some of the oaks were particu- larly handsome in their spectrum of colors from scarlet to maroon. Out in the bay we found all but two or three boats had left for their winter storage. `Over the years each farmer built his version of the all- important fence.' All that was left were the round white buoys, looking from a distance like so many white swans, all with their heads under water. We pulled up on the beach and couldn't help noting how clear the water was. Had the warm -water plankton all died off or was there just less turbulence now• than there had been with all the sum- mer boat traffic? We see this change in traffic on our roads. Perhaps it's true with our waterways as well. As we started our fall beach walk we immediately spotted deer tracks in the sand. A big deer had evi- dently just traveled by. They seem to be everywhere. To add to our tracking lesson, we soon came across Mr. and Mrs. Raccoon's tracks. Those familiar hand prints are easily identified. We even saw the straight -line track of a fox. All had come to the beach in search of food. I know deer feed on seaweed for I've often seem them doing this on Gardiners Island. Salt and minerals are what they're craving. As for *the fox and raccoons, well, just about anything will do for them. They are scavengers of the first class. By the way, I had a call from some- one who was concerned about seeing dead foxes on the highway. In the spring he had watched a family that had taken up residence under his tool shed. He had the joy of seeing the kits grow up and go out on their own. Then just in the past few weeks he saw two road - killed foxes on the high- way. It broke his heart. Could they possibly have been members of the fox family that he had so enjoyed watching as they grew up? On our walk back to the boat we could see out on the bay oldsquaws, scoters and loons, meaning our winter duck population has started to move in. Then just as we boarded the boat Barbara's eye caught the tiny purple blossoms of the sea rocket, that pio- neer plant that grows all along our beaches. It was still trying to flower in hopes of producing seeds for the next generation. Nature never stops its march to the future. The Suffolk Times • November 16, 2000 fond farewell THERE COMES A TIME WHEN even the best things fail. So it is with my old split -rail fence that runs along the west side of our pasture. Rot has done its job where the fence posts meet the ground. Here the conditions are just right for the fun-, gus and bacteria Focus and other myste- rious agents to ON do their timeless' NATURE job of decompo- sition. These Stoutenburgh agents of decay are everywhere; in the air, in the soil, in the water. All they need is a food supply such as my fence posts and a reasonable amount of warmth and you have the ingredi- ents for decay. All is variable; some posts yield to the great equalizer, decay, sooner than others. Years ago when we first built our house there was still a trace of a ditch and its accompanying mound of soil, that designated one of the boundary lines of the property. It also served as a fence to keep the cattle out of the farmland. There are many places here on Long Island where a sharp eye can see these dug fences that served our early settlers so well. One of the best examples of these hand -dug boundary fence lines is still visible on Robins Island. It's plainly seen just west of the north -south road that runs down the middle of the island. The early_ settlers were ingenious people and.came up with many ver- sions of fences that did not require digging at all. The laborious and clev- to an old fence Suffolk Times photo by Paul Stoutenburgh Time catches up with old fences like old horses. Today both are gone. Nothing lasts forever. Today's modern fences are often pressure treated with wood preservative, making them much more resistant to rot and decay. England farmer, still visible today, are perfect examples. Once when I was taking a conserva- tion course at Cornell we were taken to a place that had a unique fence made up of tree stumps. These chest- nut stumps were literally twisted and pulled out of the earth, then lined up in a tight row, making an impenetra- ble fence. Over the years each farmer, depending on what resources were available, built his version of the all - important fence. Before the small gasoline engine was invented, all post holes for fences were dug by hand. I still have the old screw -type hand digger my father used to set the locust posts for our original house in Fleets Neck back in the early '30s. Today there are still many versions of hand - operated post hole diggers, some work on the principle of the screw, others work by using two han- dles that open and close as you bring the soil up to the surface. In my case I borrowed a motor -driven post -hole digger from my son that in less than an hour dug the first 20 deep holes in the hard, dry earth of the back pas- ture. Thank goodness for my son -in- law and grandson, who provided the muscle power to operate the digger. The posts and rails needed for the fence came ,from a horse farm that had been converted into a vineyard. So you see, once again, resources that are available at the time are what make up a fence. Now all we had to do was drop in the posts, fill in arounc tnem ana we were reaay for the naits. There is a right and a wrong way to put the rails on; it all depends on whal the fence is going to be used for. If it's just for looks, they go on the outside where they will probably look nicer. I1 it's a fence that's going to keep ani- . mals in, the rails are attached inside sc that when the animals push against the rails the_ posts take the pressure and the rails are not pushed ou Once the holes were dry and the posts in place, Barbara and I measured, cu and hammered the rails on. It was during those splendid fall days when the sun paint ed our world with every shade of yellow that hickory and oak leaves can produce. From early morning to high noon, to the late afternoon, our world bathed itself in yellow. Even when we went in for a break, its glow followed us indoors. At one point we just quit fencing and headed for the boat that still had "miles to go." As we headed out into the creek the taste of fall was every- where. Some of the oaks were particu- larly handsome in their spectrum of colors from scarlet to maroon. Out in the bay we found all but two or three boats had left for their winter storage. `Over the years each farmer built his version of the all- important fence.' All that was left were the round white buoys, looking from a distance like so many white swans, all with their heads under water. We pulled up on the beach and couldn't help noting how clear the water was. Had the warm -water plankton all died off or was there just less turbulence now• than there had been with all the sum- mer boat traffic? We see this change in traffic on our roads. Perhaps it's true with our waterways as well. As we started our fall beach walk we immediately spotted deer tracks in the sand. A big deer had evi- dently just traveled by. They seem to be everywhere. To add to our tracking lesson, we soon came across Mr. and Mrs. Raccoon's tracks. Those familiar hand prints are easily identified. We even saw the straight -line track of a fox. All had come to the beach in search of food. I know deer feed on seaweed for I've often seem them doing this on Gardiners Island. Salt and minerals are what they're craving. As for *the fox and raccoons, well, just about anything will do for them. They are scavengers of the first class. By the way, I had a call from some- one who was concerned about seeing dead foxes on the highway. In the spring he had watched a family that had taken up residence under his tool shed. He had the joy of seeing the kits grow up and go out on their own. Then just in the past few weeks he saw two road - killed foxes on the high- way. It broke his heart. Could they possibly have been members of the fox family that he had so enjoyed watching as they grew up? On our walk back to the boat we could see out on the bay oldsquaws, scoters and loons, meaning our winter duck population has started to move in. Then just as we boarded the boat Barbara's eye caught the tiny purple blossoms of the sea rocket, that pio- neer plant that grows all along our beaches. It was still trying to flower in hopes of producing seeds for the next generation. Nature never stops its march to the future. The Suffolk Times • November 16, 2000 fond farewell THERE COMES A TIME WHEN even the best things fail. So it is with my old split -rail fence that runs along the west side of our pasture. Rot has done its job where the fence posts meet the ground. Here the conditions are just right for the fun-, gus and bacteria Focus and other myste- rious agents to ON do their timeless' NATURE job of decompo- sition. These Stoutenburgh agents of decay are everywhere; in the air, in the soil, in the water. All they need is a food supply such as my fence posts and a reasonable amount of warmth and you have the ingredi- ents for decay. All is variable; some posts yield to the great equalizer, decay, sooner than others. Years ago when we first built our house there was still a trace of a ditch and its accompanying mound of soil, that designated one of the boundary lines of the property. It also served as a fence to keep the cattle out of the farmland. There are many places here on Long Island where a sharp eye can see these dug fences that served our early settlers so well. One of the best examples of these hand -dug boundary fence lines is still visible on Robins Island. It's plainly seen just west of the north -south road that runs down the middle of the island. The early_ settlers were ingenious people and.came up with many ver- sions of fences that did not require digging at all. The laborious and clev- to an old fence Suffolk Times photo by Paul Stoutenburgh Time catches up with old fences like old horses. Today both are gone. Nothing lasts forever. Today's modern fences are often pressure treated with wood preservative, making them much more resistant to rot and decay. England farmer, still visible today, are perfect examples. Once when I was taking a conserva- tion course at Cornell we were taken to a place that had a unique fence made up of tree stumps. These chest- nut stumps were literally twisted and pulled out of the earth, then lined up in a tight row, making an impenetra- ble fence. Over the years each farmer, depending on what resources were available, built his version of the all - important fence. Before the small gasoline engine was invented, all post holes for fences were dug by hand. I still have the old screw -type hand digger my father used to set the locust posts for our original house in Fleets Neck back in the early '30s. Today there are still many versions of hand - operated post hole diggers, some work on the principle of the screw, others work by using two han- dles that open and close as you bring the soil up to the surface. In my case I borrowed a motor -driven post -hole digger from my son that in less than an hour dug the first 20 deep holes in the hard, dry earth of the back pas- ture. Thank goodness for my son -in- law and grandson, who provided the muscle power to operate the digger. The posts and rails needed for the fence came ,from a horse farm that had been converted into a vineyard. So you see, once again, resources that are available at the time are what make up a fence. Now all we had to do was drop in the posts, fill in arounc tnem ana we were reaay for the naits. There is a right and a wrong way to put the rails on; it all depends on whal the fence is going to be used for. If it's just for looks, they go on the outside where they will probably look nicer. I1 it's a fence that's going to keep ani- . mals in, the rails are attached inside sc that when the animals push against the rails the_ posts take the pressure and the rails are not pushed ou Once the holes were dry and the posts in place, Barbara and I measured, cu and hammered the rails on. It was during those splendid fall days when the sun paint ed our world with every shade of yellow that hickory and oak leaves can produce. From early morning to high noon, to the late afternoon, our world bathed itself in yellow. Even when we went in for a break, its glow followed us indoors. At one point we just quit fencing and headed for the boat that still had "miles to go." As we headed out into the creek the taste of fall was every- where. Some of the oaks were particu- larly handsome in their spectrum of colors from scarlet to maroon. Out in the bay we found all but two or three boats had left for their winter storage. `Over the years each farmer built his version of the all- important fence.' All that was left were the round white buoys, looking from a distance like so many white swans, all with their heads under water. We pulled up on the beach and couldn't help noting how clear the water was. Had the warm -water plankton all died off or was there just less turbulence now• than there had been with all the sum- mer boat traffic? We see this change in traffic on our roads. Perhaps it's true with our waterways as well. As we started our fall beach walk we immediately spotted deer tracks in the sand. A big deer had evi- dently just traveled by. They seem to be everywhere. To add to our tracking lesson, we soon came across Mr. and Mrs. Raccoon's tracks. Those familiar hand prints are easily identified. We even saw the straight -line track of a fox. All had come to the beach in search of food. I know deer feed on seaweed for I've often seem them doing this on Gardiners Island. Salt and minerals are what they're craving. As for *the fox and raccoons, well, just about anything will do for them. They are scavengers of the first class. By the way, I had a call from some- one who was concerned about seeing dead foxes on the highway. In the spring he had watched a family that had taken up residence under his tool shed. He had the joy of seeing the kits grow up and go out on their own. Then just in the past few weeks he saw two road - killed foxes on the high- way. It broke his heart. Could they possibly have been members of the fox family that he had so enjoyed watching as they grew up? On our walk back to the boat we could see out on the bay oldsquaws, scoters and loons, meaning our winter duck population has started to move in. Then just as we boarded the boat Barbara's eye caught the tiny purple blossoms of the sea rocket, that pio- neer plant that grows all along our beaches. It was still trying to flower in hopes of producing seeds for the next generation. Nature never stops its march to the future.