It was a warm spring day. Probably 1968. I was old enough to be useful to my dad around the farm, good for something more than just holding a flashlight.

I didn’t do well at flashlight holding based on the reviews I got. I could be easily distracted. Dad has his head under the sink. He’s fumbling around, trying to get a wrench on a fitting.

“Hold that light and shine it up in the back for me. A little higher. Right there. Hold it right there.”

A minute later I’m putting the flashlight in my mouth to make my cheeks glow.

So, at 12, I’m practically grown up now. My flashlight-eating-days are over. I can tote buckets. I can stack hay. I can halfway drive a nail. I can load firewood. I can walk back to the barn and bring the tractor to my dad when he needs it.

I know it was a Saturday. It had to be. Dad worked at the foundry through the week. Sunday was for church and light duty, small jobs that didn’t take long. Saturday was the day we took care of the bigger chores that needed attention.

Breakfast was over. Mom and Dad had the usual. Grits, eggs, sausage, biscuits, and coffee. I had Captain Crunch.

I knew pretty quickly that whatever plans I may have had for goofing around, flying a kite, or building a fort in the hay loft weren’t gonna happen.

Dad pushed away from the table.

“Get dressed and get your boots on. We’ve got work to do.”

“Rubber boots or regular?” I asked.

“Your lace ups. We’re not getting wet today.”

While I was tying up the last knot, I heard Dad crank up the truck. 1958 International Harvester. Powder blue. A hood the size of Stone Mountain. Enough room under the hood to put your feet over inside the compartment while sitting on the radiator and working on changing out the spark plugs.

In my mind, I could see him push in the clutch, hold the gas pedal with his heel, and push the starter button with his right toe. Pull the choke knob out until it hits and push it back in. He had shown me how to do it a hundred times. Gear shift on the steering column. To the middle, up, and then down into first.

By the time I made it out the back porch door, Dad was backing up near the old smokehouse. He got out whistling a tune. Dad whistled a lot. Nothing I recognized. Just whistling. I knew he was in a good mood.

“You grab us a shovel and the posthole diggers,” he said. “I’ll get the fence tools.”

The smokehouse door was held “locked” by a hook and eye, no different than we had on our screen doors on the house. Security, back then, wasn’t a concern. The door scrubbed and creaked as I opened it. Digging tools to the right leaned up against the wall. Wire stretcher hanging on a nail from the rafters. Tool sack and bucket with cutters, pliers, staples, and hammer. Dad told me to grab the axe just in case.

The tailgate was down, held level by chains and hooks. Dad had put a piece of rubber hose over the chains to keep them from rattling as we drove across the field.

Down by the barn we stopped for a roll of wire. With an old shovel handle through the middle of the spool, we lifted it into the back of the truck and closed the tailgate.

When you own cows, fixing fence takes up a good bit of your attention. The boundary fence comes first. Lord knows, we had cows get out and head over to Greer’s Dairy way more than we wanted. I think they knew that the grass really was greener on the other side. And they had corn they could snack on.

Dad didn’t want to be a bad neighbor, so we tried to pay attention to the boundary and make repairs as soon as we found them.

The cross fences were a different story. There were only two. One crossed east to west near the barn to isolate the front pasture. If it weren’t for the privet hedge growing in the fence, I’m not sure it would have held anything in. There were so many gaps. In fact I can’t recall ever working on that section of fence.

I guess Dad chose his battles and that section of fence was one which held very little priority for him.

The other cross fence went east to west all the way across the farm. Not far up the hill from the lake. This fence kept the herd on the back while the front pastures recovered, and visa versa. And we were headed to work on several sections where we would tie, twist, and stretch to put it back right.

One of the reasons I remember this day is because of the snakes. We’re both kneeled down by the fence when a long, black snake comes slithering up behind Dad.

“Snake,” I said calmly and fully collected.

Dad grabbed the shovel. I was prepared to watch him pulverize this critter into oblivion. Instead, he scooped him up and moved him maybe twenty feet away.

We went back to work. The snake came back. Dad scooped him up and moved him away again.

The third time he came back, he brought a friend with him. Two snakes. I was beginning to wonder how many more might show up. I’m not terrified of snakes, but I’m not exactly on friendly terms with them either.

Dad. He kept working like nothing happened. He finally gave up on moving the snakes away and just let them pass through. The last time I saw them, they slithered right between us, under the fence, off into the next pasture, and out of sight.

We worked all that morning on that fence line. Maybe three or four different sections that needed to be shored up and tightened. I can still see exactly where we were when the snakes came through. I could take you there right now to that exact spot if I had the chance.

I learned a lot from my dad, but what I learned that day is that the more you pay attention to the distractions in life, the more they come at you. Stay focused on your work. Ignore the things competing for your attention that don’t have anything to do with your goals, and eventually, the distractions go away.

“They’ll leave you alone if you leave them alone,” Dad said. “Now, twist that wire before it comes loose.”

I feel stupid some days, but I’m still trying to focus on what matters in life. I should have this down by now. I’ve had a lot of practice. But those dadgum distractions can be annoying. I push them away, and they come right back.

Here’s my job. Always keep my boundary fences intact. It’s the neighborly thing to do. Fix my cross fences as best I can. Then, ignore the snakes.

Most of them will slither on through and disappear anyway.