The dogs and the chickens keep going into the little flower bed along the side of the house. Between them, I don't know how the flowers have survived.
I finally decided enough was enough, and wove this little fence. I only have one side done so far, so it doesn't keep much out yet.
It is made of willow branches, from my brother's secret stand of willows. They grow like weeds along the lake, and every few years the city comes and cuts them down. My brother knew a spot that they missed, and helped cut a couple of bundles for me.
Now when I go outside, I am struck by the smell of willow branches, and am transported back 35 years or so. As kids, we would spend hours along the shoreline, playing hide and seek in the willows, bending the long branches and lashing them together with smaller willow whips, making forts out of them. Old Mr. Finney would stand up on the bank, watching us with a faint frown of disapproval. We just ignored him.
*No turkeys were injured in the making of this fence.
