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The Eighth Wonder of the Suburban World

Mark your calendars, folks. Update the history books. Notify the Smithsonian. Move over, Pyramids of Egypt. Step aside, Hoover Dam. Future civilizations will speak of this day in hushed, reverent tones. May 22, 2026, will forever be remembered as the moment humanity reached the pinnacle of suburban engineering excellence.

Earlier today, my neighbor Steve and I drove the final screw into what can only be described as the most overbuilt property divider in North County.


The Fence!


And then there’s the gate. Good grief, the gate. Calling it just a gate is almost disrespectful. It looks like the entrance to a medieval fortress or to Hogwarts Castle. It swings open with the heft of a bank vault and closes with the wave of a magic wand. At this point, we’re considering applying for FAA clearance to install a helicopter pad on top of it.


This glorious odyssey began in early February, the primitive era. From the start, we made a sacred pact: we would not become one of those people. You know the ones. The frantic weekend warriors making their seventh stress-induced Home Depot run because they forgot the galvanized screws. Again.


Men standing motionless in the fastener aisle, staring into the void while holding two nearly identical boxes of screws, as their bank accounts quietly drain in real time.


Not us. We were craftsmen. Visionaries. Men of leisure. We would take our time. We would savor the process. We would become one with the wood grain.


And honestly? We learned a lot along the way. Tricks like:

  • “Measure twice, cut once, then spend two hours processing why it’s still wrong.”
  • “If you cut a board too short, immediately call it a design feature.” (Then go back to Home Depot to buy another one.)
  • “If a post is only slightly crooked, never admit it.”

Now, I know what you’re thinking. Did two unlicensed old guys make mistakes during a four-month construction project involving power saws, drills, concrete, and blind optimism?


Listen. I’m not here to discuss details. I will simply say there were moments when the laws of geometry were more suggestion than rule. There were debates. There were recalculations. There may have been a point when we both stared silently at a post for ten full minutes, hoping it would somehow straighten itself through sheer willpower.


But the beauty of a two-man crew is the unspoken confidentiality agreement that forms naturally from shared embarrassment. Every blown measurement, every splintered plank, and every time one of us nearly tacked an article of clothing directly to the structure—all buried beneath layers of dirt and selective memory.


Pro Woodworking Tip: A mistake is only a mistake if your spouse actually witnesses it. Otherwise, it’s “artisanal asymmetry.”


I would also like to pay tribute to the true war hero of this project: that final corner post. You know the one. To secure it properly, we had to dig a hole so deep and structurally sound that I’m fairly certain we disrupted an ancient civilization. At one point, we (ok, it was me) looked into the hole and thought, “I think we may have hit a tectonic plate.”


But thanks to sheer determination (and our neighbor Don), that corner post is no longer merely attached to the yard. It is attached to the Earth's mantle itself. If a Category 5 tornado tears through the neighborhood tomorrow, our house may disappear entirely, but that gate will remain standing exactly where we left it—majestically guarding an empty patch of dirt, the last sentinel of a fallen civilization. 


And now, after months of labor, debate, minor injuries, and about fourteen gallons of sweat, the whine of the drills has finally ceased. Before us stands a towering, unyielding barrier of premium timber—a monument to perseverance, stubbornness, and unfettered access to power tools.


Breaking News: I’m incredibly proud to announce that, after a grueling, highly competitive review process, our fence and gate have been officially named "The Finest in the Neighborhood.”


Rest assured, the voting panel was entirely independent and unbiased, consisting exclusively of Steve and me. Yes, we are truly humbled by our patience, creativity, and ability to survive four months of construction without needing emergency medical attention.


So, here’s to fences that make good neighbors, gates that could withstand a medieval siege, and the majestic art of figuring it out as you go.


This is On the Fly. I’m Patrick Ball. Stay curious, ask better questions, and have some fun with your DIY projects.

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