The fence guy visited last week and gave us a price on securing the perimeter for our prospective mini-herd of Black Angus. I now have a new appreciation of the various ways you can judge wealth: not just by the size of someone’s house or the make of cars in the driveway or the wheels of cheese in the cellar but by the extent and type of fence around the property. It’s all about the price of gold—the roughest split-rail, the most unadorned three-strand electric, the might-as-well-be-made-of-diamond double rail crossbuck with six-by-six French Gothic posts of fresh-sawn oak. By my calculation, the price of steak is about thirty per cent fence.
6.6.10
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