Walk the Fence Line

Fifteen years ago, we lost my father-in-law. He lived on a 189-acre farm, and there are plenty of things I remember about him. But recently, I found myself thinking about something incredibly ordinary that he used to do. He walked the fence line. Almost every day, he would make his way around the property checking the fence. He wasn't waiting for someone to tell him there was a problem. He wasn't waiting until something escaped or a section of fence completely collapsed. He was looking for the little things. A loose wire. A leaning post. A section beginning to sag. Something damaged that could be repaired today before it became a much bigger problem tomorrow.