As with most farms in this country, it is fenced, post oak or bois d'arc wooden posts, barbed wire, and a stretch of hog wire. And there's a drive-way entrance set back and a metal gate leading to the highway.
I see these trips because the room where I write and read faces the gate almost directly. Each of those sorties consumes at least three minutes, and of course, every trip out requires a return trip.
I remarked on this to our neighbor, saying "I wonder why those folks don't install a cattle guard?"
Cattle guards are simple affairs, most often round pipe welded together. With the pipes being round and separated by several inches, the cattle will not step on the pattern. It is only necessary to make the guard big enough that a cow or steer cannot jump over it.
"There's already one there," my neighbor replied. "They use the gate anyway."
And so once again I'm left to puzzle over something that seems entirely illogical. Granted, it is truly none of my business. I suppose it bothers me because one of the best things I learned before I evolved to a power wheelchair was efficiency of movement: Get up in the morning and get everything you need out of the bedroom so that you don't have to make three or four trips back across the carpet.
The gate-and-cattle guard dilemma isn't my affair, and predicting or analyzing human behavior is a fool's game, but ...