Fenced In

Why we need fences in the middle of nowhere

(From September 2020)

We are putting up fences. They are five feet tall. We moved into the vast desert, a landscape that sprawls for miles, two months ago to live in an small off-grid strawbale home. But we are fencing off our little corner, our quarter acre, which is a nice size and yet so small compared to the scenery that surrounds us.

Our fence will hurt our views. To the east, the fence will be wires so we can look through to the Sangre de Cristo mountains and glittering town lights. But to the south and the west, the fence will be metal sheeting framed in wood to block the winds that often blow in from this angle, blasting dirt and picking up anything that isn't unfastened along the way. 

From the start, we knew a fence would be necessary. We have a dog. We wanted to protect her. So far the other dogs that wander into our yard have been sweet enough, but they make our nervous dog more nervous. Unfortunately, our dog also enjoys wandering next door and pooping in our neighbor's yard, which we've begun sneaking over to pick up. She also wanders somewhere farther off to collect chunks of petrified human manure wrapped in toilet paper to bring home to our yard. Disgusting, yes. We've yet to figure out where she's procuring these balls of dried crap. Could be from an outhouse or someone who is burying their poop. Regardless, it's time to put a fence up. This will allow us to leave her outside when we are gone or to trust her alone with a dog sitter to not escape on her own Incredible Journey.

I can't help thinking figuratively about what fences mean, how we fence ourselves in, fence others out. First of all, do we truly own this land? Politically, I recognize that we are on occupied Taos Pueblo land. The idea of ownership and occupation are symptoms of colonization, which is a symptom of patriarchal systems in which we subjugate and threaten and steal and harm and in doing so create a false system of commodity based on violence. Philosophically, I also recognize that the earth and the Earth big E belongs to all of us, all humans. When we begin to parcel off the land, we begin to forget that 100% of us are 100% reliant on this one planet for survival. Instead, we only see our own front lawn. This is mine, that is yours. We are separate, divided. But you can never truly own the land no more than you can own the sky or water. 

We moved to the desert so we could live sustainably with the land. We continue to conform to the systems in place and do our best within them to make small differences that meet with our values and integrity. We are borrowing this land from future generations, from our fellow earthlings, humans and animals alike. We are squatters. We will try to take care of it just as we would if we borrowed a precious book from a friend or offered to care for their dog while they were away, gently and with love. ​But to do so, we will need a container in which to place the land, to hold our family safe. These are the confines imposed on us in an imperfect world. This world requires of us fences. Just as it requires clothes, personas, jobs, grocery stores, cars, deodorant, Zoom meetings and plastic.

But I will miss these unimpeded views that allow me to feel like I am part of the vast desert, unrestrained and wild. In this moment as the monsoon winds pick up with the smell of sage and petrichor, I will cherish the sense of fencelessness, the feeling that I could also be picked up by the wind and carried away and always be at home.