The next day Buckus buried Hattie under an oak tree in an open field. The ground was packed hard, but not frozen. Broken limestone bits made digging a challenge even with his new pick and shovel. When he finally laid her coffin in the grave, he said a silent prayer. And then he quoted John 16:22 aloud: “And ye now therefore have sorrow but I will see you again and your heart will rejoice.”
Taking up his shovel, he covered her with the loose dirt and limestone. He gathered sizable fieldstones and placed them on top to discourage any resident scavenger from disturbing her grave. Looking up into the stately tree that stood as her protector, he was satisfied. This was the spot he’d sought. This was Hattie’s place of rest.
He spent the winter in the cave keeping himself warm and fed. In spring, as bluebells sprouted and bloomed, he built a two-room cabin near Hattie’s grave. The spot was chosen for its proximity to the artesian well and reservoir and flat enough for a little farming and grazing. The oak tree under which Hattie was laid to rest was only a short distance from his door.
In 1880, Buckus purchased the land from the government with his father’s antebellum gold and silver. He continued his godly ways, kept to himself, and made it his life’s work to survive on the land in solitude. He tended to a kitchen garden and chickens. When he needed to, he hunted for game. He never went hungry, worshipped the Lord in his own way, and stayed out of area politics. His trips to town were infrequent. He had no need or desire for socializing.
One day in the fall as he rode his horse around his property, he stopped at the hedge trees that marked the road to the cave and artesian well. The row hedge was about fifty feet long and seven feet high, the foliage lush, the long thorns plentiful. Such a landmark clearly called out the entrance to Buckus’s home. Climbing off his horse, he kicked around the base of the Osage orange trees1 and saw a few seeds. Sifting through the loose dirt he picked some up and placed them in the palm of his left hand. The seeds were brown and dry, about a half inch long and ready for planting. With the heel of his boot he dug a narrow trench across the opening in the hedge. Placing seeds a foot apart, he covered them with loose dirt and used the water in his canteen to moisten the soil. If the seeds took hold, one day the entrance to the wagon road would be blocked. He picked up fallen fruit and took them back to the cabin to extract more seeds and dry them for planting. Returning to the hedgerow again and again he planted more seeds along his property line. The seeds sprouted and grew vigorously. Buckus knew a single row of orange hedge trees planted one foot apart would yield a fence “horse high, bull strong, and hog tight.”
Because Buckus was an industrious sort, he decided to plant a living orange tree fence all the way around his enormous tract of land. He worked hard on this venture and took great satisfaction in his hedge. Year after year in the fall he gathered the fruit, which were loaded with seeds. In the spring he planted more and more trees, pruned the ones already planted, and wove the lower branches. After ten years and twenty miles of toil, he had marked the boundaries of his land with the amazing fence. He created a new entrance away from the main road, known only to him and a lone neighbor who brought him moonshine from his still.
On many occasions Buckus would mount his horse and ride the edge of his property feeling every bit the king of his dominion. No one ever bothered ol’ Buckus. Some thought him odd; others admired his tenacity. “Who would have the patience to plant and tend an orangewood fence when barbed wire and post would do?” some farmers said. “Perhaps someone who has nothing else to do,” others offered and then laughed. Buckus never raised horses, bulls, or hogs although he was quite sure one day the living fence would be used to enclose them. Over the years the trees naturalized and the fence became thicker and more formidable. This is God’s work, thought Buckus. He has heard my prayers. The fence was planted, grown and groomed for protection, a barrier from the hatred that lay beyond.
Buckus Del Henny died in 1915 at the age of 65, but no one knows exactly what day. Some say he was tending his fence when he had a heart attack. A neighbor offered to see Buckus to his grave, meaning that neighbor was the only one who knew where the old man was buried. Buckus left no last will and testament, so it became the government’s charge to auction off the property. Sad, some thought. But in truth, Buckus Del Henny had become what most could not—a legend in his own time—and the fence, his legacy.
1 Osage orange trees were prevalent in the Midwest. The strange-looking fruit is inedible to humans and most animals. The skin of the fruit resembles the convoluted texture of a human brain. The wood is yellow-orange in color and was used to make beautiful bows, spears, and tools by the Osage Indians, who lived and moved around Missouri. The thorns of the tree are impressive.
Chapter 3
The Arrival
In April 1931, spring came early to Glidewell Ranch, and the weather was unseasonably warm. Mary Glidewell looked over her desk and sighed. It was so difficult turning job applicants away.
