In January 2005, Matt deployed to Iraq a few months after we moved to Twentynine Palms, California. There was no base housing available, so we moved into a rental in Yucca Valley about twenty minutes away. We knew that a house would likely open up during the seven months Matt was gone, and I would have to transition into base housing alone with the kids, ages 4, 3, and 1.

In March, the call came that our house was ready. With much weeping and gnashing of teeth, we moved in. At the time, none of the small yards on base were fenced. You had to fence it yourself or pay to have it done, which was running from $600 to $1000 for a tiny yard. Many people opted to put up their own fences for the cost of materials alone. I had put up my share of fences growing up, and I had to have a fence—not for my dog who doesn’t really run at all, but for my kids.

I got all the materials and rented a pressure hose to make the holes for the poles. My friend Heidi and her husband Ralph were coming into town a few days later to help me stretch the chain link, but I needed to sink the poles to give them time to set. On base, you couldn’t put up a permanent fence, so cement was out of the question. Instead, we would use a high power pressure tube on a hose to force water into the granite and sand, then shove the poles down and hope that the ground hardened back around it holding it steady.

I got up early on the appointed Saturday morning, fed the kids, and by eight, headed out back with my hose. I turned on the water and began to try to force the tube into the hard dirt. Water sprayed everywhere. I was able to get about three inches down in thirty minutes. Ugh. This was going to take all day. The kids thought I was playing in the sprinkler without them, and they quickly took off all their clothes and ran outside. I just sprayed them every few minutes and they were happy. I had twelve poles to sink and three preschoolers to help. I was doomed.

Just as I began to think that maybe this was not going to work, our new neighbor Leon poked his head over his patio wall.

“What- are- you- doing?” he asked.

I must have been a sight—dripping wet, with three naked, screeching banshees out back, and a pressure hose I was having trouble controlling.

“I’m sinking the poles for a fence.”

He shook his head and tried not to laugh outright. “Hang on. I’m coming over.”

Within a few minutes, Leon was driving that power sprayer into the granite and sinking poles as fast as I could hand them to him. We were done before lunch.

Leon, his wife Nicole, and their kids are some of our best friends to this day. They took a risk on a crazy lady chasing naked preschoolers. They chose to enter our mess and walk alongside us. I’ve been thinking a lot about them this week. I can’t imagine our lives without them. Sometimes a helping hand is just the first move into a lifelong hug.