I was out at Mt Vernon for a long walk recently, and this split rail fence reminded me of the place my family lived when I was growing up. The farm, about 60 miles north of Detroit was an old homestead. Before my grandfather bought it had been in the same family since the area was settled and logged out. Around the edges of the field, the edges of the farm, there were remnants of split rail fences. The original concept of a split rail fence was split trees, stacked in a zig-zag pattern. The fences could be built or repaired with few tools, an axe, a wedge and heavy hammer to split the rails, then just stack them. There were no fasceners involved, just gravity to hold them together. They could be moved as the needs of the famer changed. They would contain most livestock. As a kid we would find small sections of these fences around the farm and neighboring farms.
There were also remnants of stump fences. The area had been old growth forest when it was divided up, the trees were cut and sent off to build cities, ships, and provide fuel for heat; leaving behind the stumps, many of them massive. The tree stumps, with a large dense tangle of roots, would be cut loose and dragged out by teams of horses, mules or oxen, and stood on edge to make a dense fence. This was labor intensive, but the end product was a very effective fence for keeping in livestock, and lasted for a century or more.
I was nearly the last generation to see these remnants of the past, changes in farming have eliminated nearly all of the fence rows, farm fields now run right up to the side of the road, 60 years ago there was a 20-30 foot border of trees and weeds, and fence remnants between the road and the start of the planting.
At the time the farm was home. For a few years after I moved away, I kind of thought of it as home. But I no longer do. It is where I spent my childhood. I have no real connection to the place. I have no family there. It is a lifetime ago. In the fresh light that distance and time provide, I can see the flaws and difficulties of the place. I am glad I left. And yet, I am glad I saw things that few people have seen outside of photos, paintings, and historical recreations.





