Lem labored on that damn fence for five years—it was untreated oak posts and rails. Now those were rotting. He spent his spare time replacing the wood with treated stuff—a never-ending task. The fence separated two fields so horses could graze in one until they’d chewed it down; then they’d graze in the other field while the first grew back. But Lem didn’t have horses.
The neighbor kid said he’d pay Lem sixty bucks an acre to plant crops instead, but the fence was in the way. Lem and the kid tore that baby down in an hour.