Maria finished a 200-foot secure wire mesh fence that the sheep can no longer get through, a job that would have cost somewhere between one and two thousand dollars from a professional fence maker (I called and got an estimate).

It took her two Sundays and about nine hours of work.

Our late friend and farmer Ed Gulley would have been proud of her; he built and repaired his fences for 40 years and laughed at the idea of hiring someone. Red would have been proud of her as well.

When I got to the first Bedlam Farm, the first thing I did was hire a professional and pay him $5,000 for the fencing there.

He had big pumps and hole drillers.

My wife is made of sterner stuff, as was Ed. That’s one reason they got along so well. I married wisely and well.

Maria took some time to figure things out. She chose a 36-inch turkey/chicken fence with two-inch squares so sheep heads can’t get stuck and used stapes and wire to fasten the taut wire to trees, bushes, and posts.

I’m starting to think of her as the Elon Musk of small farms; she gets it done quickly and inexpensively.

And she always gets it done and in her way.

And the odd thing is that she loves doing it, as long as it is her idea.

She doesn’t want help or ask for it, and she is usually accompanied by two dogs, Zinnia and Fate, although Zinnia comes looking for me after a while. She doesn’t eat while working or take breaks or listen to music or use her phone or complain.

I bring her water and an apple every once in a while, and she pauses for a minute or two to take a drink and eat the apple by Willa Cather girl. I could tell she was proud of herself today.

And she uses her vivid creativity to figure out how to do things a single person, let alone a woman, is not supposed to be able to do by herself, or even at all. I am a proud husband; even 30 years ago, I could never have done this.

We let the sheep into the newly fence-secure rear pasture and watched as they grazed their way to the back fence, headed for the hole they made before, and were now faced with a taunt mesh fence that had no give.

They seemed surprised and confused.

Ever since the electric company came and cut down the brush near the wires, a sheep or two broke through the wire fence and got into the neighbor’s grass. This year, they all did it. We sealed off the back pasture (the other walls are pretty solid), and Maria said she would repair the fence through the thick brush, rocks, and ticks.

So she did. It cost us about $120 for the fence, some wire, and staples. (I’m cooking dinner, fish cakes, potstickers with rice. We had a pick-up of a small plain pizza last night, we put our vegetables and crabmeat on it, and I had two slices. I loved it; it was good to chomp down on something thick.)

It took the sheep about 20 seconds to poke around, give it up, and start grazing their way back towards the farm.  They forgot about the holes. Sheep don’t have much in the form of strategic memories.

When we checked a third time, they were all dozing in the Pole Barn, fat and tired. Maria has moved on, is plotting some new art for tomorrow. She’s talking bout weeding and cleaning up the gardens next week.

Next Sunday morning, we are going to Boston for the day. Tomorrow she’ll be in her studio.

I’m getting my Leica lesson in person; she’s hitting some museums. We’ll be back Sunday in the early evening.