Good fences make good neighbors.

A favorite poem of mine, studied in depth in a high school literature class, is The Mending Wall 
by Robert Frost....

Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That wants it down.'  I could say ‘Elves’ to him,
But it’s not elves exactly, and I’d rather
He said it for himself.  
I recall arguing at length what it meant that good fences make good neighbors.  On the surface, it would appear that fences, as boundaries, is what makes good neighbors.  Your apple orchard on your side, my pine trees on my side...
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
But in my more liberal way of thinking, I argued that the annual repairing of the fence brought the two men together, possibly the only time all year it happened.   And for the duration of the time spent putting the stone wall back together, they were... neighbors.  Working together toward a common goal...
If memory serves, my argument did not hold much water, in the narrow mind of my lit teacher.
This morning, as I was mixing up waffle batter, my wife and I heard a loud thump outside.  Looking out our picture window, we saw the remains of our and our neighbor's mailbox, and the frame for it, strewn the length of our front yard.    A few minutes later, while my wife was outside surveying the damage, and the tire tracks a good 3 feet from the street, also the length of your yard, a beat up chevy Blazer with a busted passenger headlight and white paint and a dent slowed way down in front of your house, until the driver saw her, then he gunned it and sped off...
It's not elves, exactly.... 
Just an asshole driving recklessly down our road at 8a on a sunday morning....       
The neighbor's house is owned by a guy down the street, 80 year old farmer who owns the land around and across from my house, and who used a lot of it, for many years, for dairy farming.  He told me awhile ago that 30 or so years ago he realized his kids weren't interested in taking it over, and he was tired of looking at the back end of cows, so he sold the 80 head or so he had.  
Anyhow, I called Dan to let him know what happened, and that his tenants would need a new mail box.  We made plans to get together earlier this afternoon, and build a new frame, install new boxes, etc.   
Dan's an interesting guy, with lots more life experience, and a very different kind, than I.  And I figured out awhile ago that listening a lot and not talking too much is the way to go when I'm around him.    
"You want to come with me over to the barns and see what wood we can use?"
Yes!
Good fences make good neighbors.
So we're sorting through scrap wood, in the buggy room, where the old horse drawn buggy is still in residence.  He said, in passing, that it had been in the family for over a hundred years. 
Then it was through the door to the old milking room, which is where he keeps all of his power tools now.   He explained how it all worked, how they'd line up 8 cows, 4 on each side of the pit, and they'd stand down in the pit and attach the milkers to the cows, and then bring in 8 more.... And over there's where the gate used to be, to ensure the cows stayed sorted, so that they wouldn't hook a cow up that had already been milked.  80+ cows looked quite a bit a like, I reckon... Then through the next door where once stood a 2000 gallon milk tank, which they'd fill every two days, and right over... there... is the small little door where the milk guy would run his hose through, and empty the tank into his tanker, and drive it down to Kalamazoo, where it would then go... elsewhere.   Probably to the east side of the state.   He probably didn't think much about it, at this juncture, but I found it all fascinating.  
Good fences make good neighbors.
And for the duration of the time spent putting the stone wall back together, they were... neighbors.  Working together toward a common goal...
He had all the wood we needed, and a high end impact drill. I had some of the right length and type of screws and the necessary drill bits and an electric hand saw. I had already started digging the new post hole, and we took turns until it was about 30 inches deep.  Dumped half bag of quick concrete I had left over from a previous project down the hole around the post, and 45 minutes later... project completed.     And the big, new, crazy sturdy frame will do even more damage to the next jack ass who takes it out, driving recklessly down our road.....   It's not elves, exactly....
It was fun, even though I'm sore everywhere and feel like I'm dying.   I expect Dan will just stop by for no reason when it's warmer out, and we see each other in passing more often, and we'll be just that much more comfortable around each other..... 
Good fences...  you get the picture.