Letter: The cornerpost

We couldn’t understand where we went wrong.

The gap between the ground and the bottom of the fence boards was, with every picket, incrementally increasing.

And then there was the sidewalk side that was, for every foot, imperceptably sloping.

How to align the two and still get to where we wanted to go?

Finally, after much thought – and trial and error – we removed the length of already installed pickets and started with the cornerpost and took our direction from there.

We have in mind what one day this will be.

One day climbing red roses will interlace the white pickets and make their way over the arbor.

One day a child will swing over the top of one corner of the fence, suspended from a branch of the century old cedar.

She’ll even have a gate of her own.

One day stone steps will wind from the arbor to the little cottage front door.

One day.

So it is in the directing of anything, whether it is the development of a child, or the design for the fence of a cottage – much less deciphering the architectual intricacies of a cathedral or navigating the political landscape of a country – all materials used in construction are ideally placed in reference to this most important, most critical, starting point.

The cornerpost.

The entire structure, a whole life for that matter, for good or ill, begins with the beginning.

No sooner had we realized where we’d gone wrong and had removed and begun reinstalling the pickets than a total stranger stopped and said, ‘I appear to be lost and while I know where I’m going, I don’t know where I am. Could you direct me?’

I smiled, and pointed.

“See that cornerpost. . . .”