OF CAPE COD FENCES
Sometimes, riding around the highways and byways of the Cape, you become so conscious of the mass impression of uniqueness and beauty that you lose sight of some of the finer details that have gone into it. Of such details is the Cape Cod fence, a very important part of our landscape, but one that frequently goes unnoticed. Cape fences add to the air of security and independence and snugness that all Cape houses wear. They were the product of an age of hand craftsmanship and artistic imagination, and many of them were designed, and even whittled out, aboard ship, in all the four corners of the earth. Needless to say they bear no resemblance to the poor products of mass production which are labelled “Cape Cod Fences” and sold over the counters of department stores many miles from the Cape.
With the advent of the summer visitor the picket fence has enjoyed a popular renaissance and they look very much at home around old or reproduction Cape cottages. When June arrives the fences form a handsome background for the multitude of climbing roses that tumble over them in colorful cascades. The summer people have also made frequent use of the split-rail fence which was certainly used on the early Cape but never as widely as some other types. Over on the North side there were bothersome, but handsome, field stones which, as the land was cleared, were built into rambling walls, adding so much to the charm of that area. As the nineteenth century grew old and the land was secure, and the Captain’s prosperity was being felt in the villages, it became time to indulge in tidying up and beautifying the stark simplicity of earlier times. Then the mansions became more ornate and so did the fences. You can see them all over any village, particularly on Main Street, such as the verybeautiful wrought iron fence that surrounds the Captain Obed Baker mansion in my own village of West Dennis. The elaborateness of the fences became as much a symbol of the wealth and importance in the community of the owners as did the houses, themselves. Fortunately, all of them somehow managed to retain a standard of good taste and authentic Cape Cod flavor which makes them both suitable and attractive.
What had become something ornamental had once been extremely useful, which may explain the frequency with which you will see a fence on village streets. “Good fences make good neighbors” is not a Cape expression! With husbands and sons out on the broad Atlantic, or only God knew where, there was no inclination on the Cape to discourage neighborliness. Far from being a defense against neighbors, the Cape fences were primarily built as a barrier to four-footed intruders. For in the old days beef and lamb and pork products were delivered to the villages “on the hoof”. Large droves of cattle and swine were regularly driven through the village streets, all the way down Cape. In each of the villages the butcher would select his purchases and then the herd would be driven on until the last animal was sold. The route and estimated schedule of such drives would appear in the Register columns some time in advance in order that the towns could be made ready to receive them. It must have been a day of great excitement when the swirls of sand, rising from the outskirts of the village, heralded the approach of a drive of pigs or cattle that would soon be passing through Main Street to the accompaniment of the shouts of the drivers and the delighted whoops of small boys who were the unofficial escorts of the herds through town. Without a doubt there were anxious moments for the home-owners along the way who could be grateful for the sturdy fences that stood between the pushing, shoving animals and their prized flower beds and vegetable gardens.
Now, once again, the fences are purely ornamental, andthe regular drive of cattle has been replaced by the cellophane-wrapped cuts of meat at the chain stores. But some of the fences still have a function and one of these is my own favorite, the white-painted, acorn-topped, hand-turned posts which support three substantial rails. There are many fine examples of this wonderful fence all over the Cape and they are good, not only for their clean lines that blend so well with the landscape, but because they were wonderful on which to sit while watching the passing show—in days when one could find time for, and enjoyment in, just sitting. In the Cape village where I grew up there was a fine one, close by the post office, and it used to support a dozen men and boys, sitting, like starlings on a telephone wire, all in a row, and making just as much noise. This was the local Forum. Here, the blessings of freedom of speech were enjoyed to the full, and everyone had his say, sitting on the same level as his neighbor, with a whole long fence to choose from and no seat better than another. It was an all-male society, with some whittling, some cussing, some spitting, and more than a little story-telling. Here, there was an unwritten law about accepting even the tallest tales with complete credulity, and, with such latitude given, the tales sometimes became very tall, indeed. But I believed every last one of them, and really still do. Furthermore, if that fence had not bowed to progress years ago, I would be there now, pop-eyed and listening, while the summer’s sun warmed my back and my bare toes dug into the sandy soil—for, from a perch on an acorn-topped fence, your toes could just reach the soil and it was a comfortable feeling.