When we first moved into our house, my wife and I wanted a vegetable garden. A flat piece of lawn behind the garage seemed the best spot.

There are a lot of hungry creatures, with big front teeth, in our neighborhood. We would need a fence before we planted anything.

We had no experience building fences, and too little money to pay somebody to build one. But we had a fresh homeowner’s optimism and a starter set of tools. We wouldn’t be deterred from our dream of fresh peas and string beans.

We bought lath wood, fastening hardware, and a staple gun. We didn’t know that we didn’t know what we were doing, and on the strength of our vast ignorance, we produced a 10’ x 12’ fenced garden.

It was actually kind of cute. The rodents thought so. They admired our rustic enclosure as they borrowed under it. They appreciated its ineffective beauty as they mowed our infant produce to the ground. They wished we would build similar, ornamental fences around additional tasty treats elsewhere in the yard.

It took three years, submerged chicken wire, sunken garden borders, and a fist fight with a ground hog before our garden fence became useful security against the order of Rodentia. Then came our salad days. Our third-rate soil was good for a handful of peas and enough spinach, lettuce, and cucumbers for two medium-sized salads each summer. Carrots and radishes wouldn’t grow in the clay.

We began raising children as well. Each year, the garden was planted later, the weeds were given more authority, and the fence looked less fresh.

The variety of plants we grew diminished at the inverse rate to the number of children demanding attention. Even the rodents lost interest in our garden in its gradual transition from an Eden of forbidden fruit to an enclosed weed patch.

The years of neglect let the weeds grow tall, until some of them graduated into small trees. The area assumed a sad new role as a corral for outdoor toys the children had outgrown. Each winter brought accelerating decay to our once cute little fence. The ruins of our erstwhile grand vision became a mere hindrance to mow around.

This summer, we made the decision to put our garden to rest. The rotten wood was easy to pull down. The entangled chicken wire offered more resistance. As I dug up the roots of the most highly educated weeds, I realized that this fence had stood for 20 years.

Twenty years is a long time for a homemade, lath wood fence to endure. The fence stood through births, diapers, preschools, field trips, ball games, band concerts, book reports, detentions, award ceremonies, final exams, laughter, and tears.

The fence watched its builders grow rounder, and slower, and more fragile.

It almost seemed a shame to say goodbye to our fence. But time demanded it.

Time neither stops nor reverses for any fence. Every fence must come to terms with that.