When my family moved to the south when I was at the impressionable age of eight, I was amazed with some of the colloquialisms I heard that were so foreign to my ear transplanted from South Philadelphia, like one from my our next door neighbor Ethel who liked to say how much she loved her husband even though he was as “ugly as a mud fence.”I thought of that phrase recently when I pondered an ugly fence confronting me upon removing a row of sickly hemlocks, stricken years ago by a thrip infestation, pulled out by their roots, revealing a weather beaten stockade fence that separates the back of my property from another. It had fallen into disrepair with slats cracked and pieces missing here and there. Rather than replacing it at considerable expense, I thought of a more creative approach: ...
Comments
1