Don't Fence Me In

Young enough to remember that old favorite "Don't Fence Me In?" Thinking about it caused us to take notice on a recent village stroll around Rockport just what people today considered as fences for their properties. Have to admit we hadn't taken as much care in this regard on previous walks; just seemed to take the boundary protectors for granted whether there or not.

The pencil recorded all manner of fences. It seemed as if some types dated the property in several instances, and punctuated the social standing of the owner. On High Street, smack dab in front of us, was a window out of the past, of 20 panes of glass in a tumbledown structure that once served as a neighborhood store with coffee grinder, penny candy, and the like. But no fence of any sort.

Then before us was an old-fashioned picket fence. A peek over it revealed a bush that must have been all of 20 feet high topped with heaven-sent pussywillows, tips almost as high as the eaves of the house.

Fences or no fences, we had to stop right there to breathe in the glory of crocuses in bloom despite the sharp tang of winter in spring-time. Right by we noted the spanking new home of one-time Rockport police chief Dick ("Squizzle") Manson on the same street, with no need of a fence. It brought back memories of real Rockport people, like Capt. Ralph Nelson whose brand new lobster boat that he built in his backyard down on Old Garden Road has been dunked in the briny ready for Fipennies or Jeffreys.

Back to fences...we were eager to see at least one wrought iron fence. We recalled one that bordered the old Town Hall, and went to the dump when modernists after a real struggle tore down the formidable three-story structure and the fence.

On High Street we passed the Caleb Norwood House circa 1806 and saw old iron foot scrapers on both sides of granite slabs, a red-brick walk leading up to the door, and in front to the street, a huge granite slab. In those days, ladies and gentlemen would never think of entering a house without scraping the dirt from their shoes on the iron scrapers.

Along Main Street were varied fences. In front of the brick building housing the telephone dial system was a rough stone wall that might have graced the Lexington line of resistance to the Redcoats; just plain boulders without a dab of cement.

Aha! At last we found our iron fence, in front of the old George Ira Tarr house on Main Street, the house of a Rockport commercial baron of that day; a man whose sounds were not musical, but extremely fishy. These seemingly iron pickets were spaced by impressive granite pillars. Only a closer look and feel revealed that all is not iron that is stained brown. Wood, that's what it was, but a good facsimile.

Back along Broadway Avenue, we found a modern picket fence along the Catholic parish house where Father Donald Whalen resides. This fence with its arched sweep is respectfully aged yet current.

As we came along Pleasant Street we struck oil. There in front of us was a real wrought iron fence of the past, complete even to the iron statue of a cute little darkie ready to serve as a hitching post if perchance you had a nag to tether. We really had stepped into another generation.

As for stone walls. Along that stretch there were all manner of such, from boulder on boulder to polished granite slabs cement-welded, enjoyed only by the well-to-do. Rockport is blessed by these boulder walls and fences. They have characters not enjoyed by any other type of fence in our book.

Fence-looking brought the wife and us up one of Rockport's quaintest lanes. We have always known it as Dishwater Lane. Others of a more recent generation tell us it is known as Cusick's Lane. At any rate, it winds from Main Street through to Cleaves Street, and today they honor it with the title Highland Street. At least it has a steep but short hill that provides good coasting.

And here we saw that hedges could be proper for any generation. Rockport has countless hedges, attractive, perhaps economical--and think of the daily exercises experienced by daddies come summertime clipping.

"Don't fence me in?" Bosh! The best-looking grounds are those that are fenced in,whether by Minute Men stonewall, or iron, or granite slabs, or pickets or privet.

J.P.C., Jr.