Already a long time ago I would follow the harvest down to southern Kansas and then work my way north to home again. I've never forgotten the scene when somewhere north of Russell, Kansas I drove my truck and combine past miles of stone fence posts that were erected by a past generation that have weathered well to endure many years of usefulness. It was one of those strong memories formed when so much of the world was still new to my eyes.
Stone fence posts stood statue-like
by Highway 281
north of Russell, Kansas. Hewn
from common "post rock," they held
barbed wire that marked boundaries
and kept free-ranging cattle
from trampling hard-worked wheat fields.
Northern boy, I thought this strange
having sunk wooden fence posts
around and through pasture land,
digging post holes with auger
or clam-shell, setting them straight
after eye-balling them on
a landmark in the distance,
unrolling wire, tightening
it with a rope and pulley,
finally pounding staples
to fasten it to the wood.
(Curious with ways of the world
I thought it looked out-of-sync
when Dad worked on down the line
and the humid summer air
slowed the sound from reaching me
when his hammer struck staples.)
Indians called those thorny loops
of prickly vines Devil's Rope.
It spread across the landscape
choking the free range because
ranchers ran ever-larger
herds; then cold, killing blizzards
screamed that overgrazed grass lands
couldn't support their greed schemes.
It's barbed wire we're talking here,
an invasive invention
that begged to be criticized
by some, welcomed by others.
Range wars raged over its metes
and bounds when settlers defined
their farms with it; the shortage
of wood did not deter them
when stone fence posts could be crafted
to stand for a century.
.....
Recent bumper sticker - "Get hooked on barbed wire."
