The Road Not Taken
TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
The Robert Frost Interpretive trail is close to my house in Vermont. I’ve walked the trail many times and read all of the posted poems that are along the way. In the forest where Robert walked and spent many hours writing, the trail is a treasure. If you are ever near Middlebury, Vermont with absolutely nothing else to do… check it out.
If you attended a high school English class, you probably participated in at least one session of interpretation of The Road Not Taken. What did your class decide? For the purpose of this blog, I’m going to revisit the long-ignored skill of poetry analysis. Come along with me; you can participate.
I think the most common thought on this poem is that Robert Frost was advising his readers to take the figurative road that is traveled less. In other words, march to your own band and beat your own drum. If everybody goes right… then, dear reader, go left.
The poem The Road Not Taken is displayed on the Robert Frost Interpretive trail after a bridge that crosses over a lovely brook. The first time I came upon it, I found it very funny because beneath the poem, there is a giant arrow pointing to the right. I actually laughed out loud at the arrow and turned left. I think Robert Frost would find it funny that most people come across the bridge, read the poem, and follow the arrow. This trail is a one-mile loop and in seven years of taking this trail, I have never seen anyone (but me and my family) walking the “wrong way”. In my opinion, in order to honor Robert Frost, there is no other way to do it.
I think the poem has another meaning, and in this blog, I will show you what I mean. I think Robert was looking at life in a linear way and saying that no matter which path he had decided to take in his life, he would have ended up exactly where he was supposed to anyway. I agree with him and I actually put this theory to the test. Like Robert, I couldn’t travel both roads, but I’ll describe for you how I tested this on one of my typical days.
The other day, I had many things on my list of “things to do.” I had to have an actual list that I wouldn’t forget anything. Most of the things on the list had to do with checking up on the well being of my oldest son because of… well, put it this way… a few nights before, he had an extremely bad day that ended with a trip to the emergency room. We had some follow-up appointments with his doctor (for his arm) and the dentist (for his tooth). Aside from appointments for him, I had to “squeeze in” (don’t mind the pun) a mammogram for me, swimming lessons, a lunch play-date, and grocery shopping. Did Robert Frost have busy days with lists as long as mine? Doubt it.
I am spoiled living here in Vermont. We don’t have to build any extra time into our day for traffic. Not many people live here, so the commute is simply the commute on a country mile. I build travel time into my day, but never consider that there will be anyone else on the road.
However, upon leaving home that morning for our appointments, my kids and I were suddenly stuck behind a slow car. Then we came to the stop sign that is about a mile from our home. The car ahead of us turned right and I began to think. If we went right, we would drive a paved road with a slow car in front of us, and make a trip through town. If we went left, we would drive a dirt road with no one in front of us and could avoid town.
Thinking of Robert Frost I made a decision to turn left.
Now this was July 13th. Historically, I haven’t always liked July 13th. It may sound weird, but I dread the day, and not because I have Triskaidekaphobia http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Triskaidekaphobia … I don’t. I’ve simply had two life/death/harrowing close calls on July 13th, so I don’t know why I scheduled anything on July 13th. I usually don’t leave the house on that day. It’s the one day during the summer that I like to stay very close to home. What was I thinking? I wasn’t thinking I guess. Enough said about that.
I guess I woke up that day kind of dreading what the day had in store… or –if you will- what travelling “the road” would bring for us. But back to the story… we were turning left…
About another mile up the road, we came upon a GIANT tractor mowing the sides of the road. It was moving slower than I walk! We could have parked, got out of the van, and walked the 13 miles to Randolph faster than this tractor! I gripped the wheel, thought of Robert Frost’s appreciation of nature and examined the lovely Maples on both sides of the road as we crawled along. Finally the tractor turned and we were on our way at a faster pace until…
We came upon what the locals call a “Vermont Board Meeting” (two pick-up trucks facing opposite directions, side-by-side, engines off, drivers talking).
Protocol at a “Vermont Board Meeting” is:
1. Pull up behind them.
2. Stop.
3. Wait until they finish their conversation.
4. Wait until they notice you.
5. Watch them start their trucks.
6. Smile and wave at the driver who finally drives past you going the other way.
7. Try not to curse and hold a grudge as the truck in front of you begins slowly.
8. Never pass the truck in front of you… that would be rude.
9. Drive behind the truck until (finally) one of you turns off the road.
I would say that by this point, I was in a pretty large hurry. (I use the pronoun “I” because my kids were oblivious to the situation). It was very hard on me that the person in front of me was driving slower than the speed limit. I wasn’t going to drive like a maniac, but when the truck FINALLY turned right onto Middle Hollow Road, I didn’t consider thinking about Robert Frost’s thoughts on views of ponds as I went left.
I never see cops on Bethel Mountain, but there was our constable parked at the top of the mountain. I wasn’t speeding, but he was a reminder to safely stay the course. I waved, maintained the speed limit, checked the digital clock, and plugged on. Until…
School bus!
Why would there be a school bus in the middle of the summer? Why would it be picking up children? Why would it be driving very slowly (in 1st gear) down the east side of Bethel Mountain?
I know why! Because I had appointments to keep, that’s why!
And then I thought of Robert Frost again and looked at the view. From the top of Bethel Mountain I could see all the way to New Hampshire. I reminded my kids of the beauty. I smiled, “You live in Vermont. You’re so lucky!” So, we were behind a school bus. We could be stuck in 3 lanes of busy traffic near a congested city. We weren’t. We could see many mountains far away and a blue sky decorated with clouds like cotton-candy. I held the wheel and down-shifted into first gear too.
Well, we made it to our first appointment with the doctor… late. But they were very forgiving and let us in anyway. Heck, I’ve had to wait for them on many occasions. The doctor discovered that my son’s collar bone had actually been broken! I’m glad we had a follow-up appointment. The ER doctor missed the fracture because my son’s collar bone and one of his ribs over-lapped and it was hard to see. We fitted him with a strap-on brace (that he’ll wear for two weeks) and headed to the drug-store for IBUProfen for relief from his pain. When I pulled out of the hospital parking lot, I saw my mother’s jeep parked there.
She had a doctor’s appointment the same day, and a dentist appointment too. Same doctor’s office. Same dentist office. Weird, eh? I suddenly wondered if they had made it on time. Probably. It occurred to me that they probably had turned right when the roads split; they had taken the road “more traveled”. They were always on time to appointments.
My kids and I spent a few minutes parked near the train tracks so we could watch the Amtrack train come in. Our timing was great; it zoomed by us with great vigor and my son with the broken collar bone felt great after that experience. Fortunately, we were able to make it to the pool on time because there were no mowers, trucks, or busses out and about. While at the pool, I casually mentioned to my friend Alyssa that I had a mammogram at 1:30 and was not looking forward to it.
“What are you doing with the kids while you’re having it done?”
“Oh, they’re coming with me.”
“To the hospital?”
“Yep. My mom would usually watch the kids for me, but she has a buncha’ appointments today too… so she can’t.”
“Leave them here at the pool with me. I’ll watch them.”
My day suddenly seemed easier.
On the way to my mammogram (back to the same doctor’s office I had been earlier in the morning), I saw my mother’s jeep again, driving the opposite direction. I beeped and waved, but they didn’t see me. It seemed funny to see her in Randolph… so far from home and our paths kept crossing. I thought of Robert Frost again as my mother took one road and I took another. My mother’s mouth would be wide open for her dentist ay 1:30, just as I my breasts were being squished for my radiologist.
And speaking of being squished… I have to comment on just how weird a mammogram is. Let me describe it for those of you who have never had the pleasure. The radiologist held the door open for me and I entered the tiny, overly feminine room. The breast squishing machine took up about half of the space. She immediately told me to remove my shirt and step up and place my breast on a little platform. She warned me that she would be pulling on me and to get ready for my “picture”. It all happened so fast. We had just barely said hello and suddenly she is grabbing one of my most tender parts of my body and pulling. I almost asked if she was a gardener, she was so talented at grabbing and pulling. I need her to go to my house and weed my flowerbeds. Then she made me grab onto the handrail and hold my breath. She went behind a small divider and said, “Hold your breath. Stand still.” I heard a BEEP. I was pinned there. Stuck, and incredibly uncomfortable, I tried to find beauty in the room like I know Robert Frost would have. I couldn’t. I could hardly stand.
“Okay.” The radiologist said abruptly, “hold your breath again.”
BEEP.
Then it occurred to me: What if the power went down in a hospital? Is there a generator that kicks on immediately? Would I be trapped there? Would I survive hours in that position if I had to? I could write a ton of poetry in that time, and I don’t write poetry.
Fortunately, the power did not go out. The radiologist released the machine’s grip on my flesh and handed me a bizarre pink shirt/shawl/cover-up. This perplexed me. Why should I cover myself considering she’s already seen my breasts and pulled them almost half-way across the room? Why bother?
She fussed with the “pictures” to be sure they were good enough. Then she made me slap my breast up there again.
We repeated this scenario over and over and over again until she had every possible angle of both breasts. I thought of my mother in the chair at the dentist’s office with her mouth gaping. Normally, I wouldn’t want to be at the dentist, but at that particular moment, I would have switched places with my mom gratefully.
It ended. I thanked the radiologist and asked her, “How many years have years have you had this job?” (I don’t know why I did that, but I suppose I didn’t want to be rude… you know… small talk).
“Twenty.” She said proudly.
“How many breasts would that be… times two?” I asked without thinking.
“Oh, God. I don’t know,” she smiled casually, “a lot… my boyfriend thinks I have the best job.”
“Does he realize that most of the breasts are over 40? That’s when they start to sag.”
“He doesn’t care, I guess. I’ve told him. He still is jealous of my job.”
My kids had splashed and swam the entire time and seemed quite happy (of course they were… they weren’t getting a mammogram). In fact, the one without the broken collar bone wanted to continue playing with Alyssa’s kids for the rest of the afternoon. Alyssa agreed to it and since we had another appointment with the dentist… my afternoon just got easier again. One kid grocery shopping and a one kid trip to the dentist would be much easier.
So, onward we went to the grocery store. Shopping with one child was a dream. My son seemed pretty tired from swimming and since he had a broken bone, I told him he could ride in the wheelchair cart. By the time we were done, the groceries were piled around him; he looked so content, like a cat in a pile of clean laundry.
We arrived at the dentist on time. Have I mentioned that this dentist is not our usual one? Our regular dentist was on vacation so we had to go to the only other dentist in town because of my son’s front tooth emergency. I stood at the counter and gave them ALL of our insurance information because it was as if we were first time clients. They needed to know EVERYTHING and that took time… 15 extra minutes of our time. I slid paperwork across to the administrative assistant at the dentist’s office.
“Fiske Road. Rochester. That address seems familiar.” She tapped her pen.
“My mom shares the same address.” I said rubbing the counter, “She was actually here today.” I told her my mother’s name and we shared a “Vermont is so small” moment.
“She was just here!” The woman laughed.
“Yes, and now she’s heading back to another doctor’s appointment in the same building where we had one earlier today.”
Probably humoring me, she seemed to find what I said to be interesting.
The dentist checked my son’s mouth (everything was AOK) and then spent a ton of time talking about trains with him. It was great because my son forgot about his collarbone for a few minutes. Distraction is fantastic, you know? I was relieved about his tooth.
We left the dentist’s office and went BACK to the hospital because my neighbor had been in the birth center that day. She had been in labor since the night before and so we figured perhaps the baby had been born. We wanted to meet our new neighbor if it was possible. My mother’s jeep was parked outside; she was still at her doctor’s appointment.
No baby had been born yet, but I had the honor of holding my neighbor’s hand while she had a few contractions. I thought of Robert Frost again. Had he ever seen a woman in labor? It was a lovely and mysterious experience. In the hall outside the room, my son’s face was priceless. He had never heard anything quite like that before. He told me his collarbone didn’t hurt as much as having a baby probably did. I wonder if he’s right. Apples and oranges I’ll bet…
Our list was complete. On our way out of the hospital, we stopped at a garden courtyard and sat for a few minutes on a bench. There was a fountain, some lovely flowers and birds chirping. We sat near a gorgeous yellow bird and listened to his song until my son was ready to go.
When we were on our way back to the car, I could see my mother’s jeep pulling out of the parking lot. They hadn’t seen us. I smiled to myself… timing… timing is so important. Our paths were not meant to cross that day. Oh well.
We headed for home with a plan; we would stop at Onion Flats Restaurant for an ice cream cone for my son. It had been an ice cream cone day. In his mind, ice cream =summer, and after all, he had a broken collar bone. Isn’t ice cream medicine for that? Onion Flats is an old fashioned drive-in restaurant where we have had many an upside-down meal… (ice cream first, meal later).
My mother had the same idea! She was already savoring a root beer float. I took the space behind her jeep and ran up to say hello. Our paths had finally crossed.
“How was your day?” I asked her.
“Crazy.” She sipped her straw. “We’ve been all over the place.”
“I know. I saw you. We were all over the place too.” I smiled.
No matter how we travel the road, we end up where we are supposed to. My mother took her path and we took ours, and although different, we converged at Onion Flats because we were supposed to. On a summer evening we shared both conversation and the road back over the mountain on the way home. The clouds were building toward a storm. Even my son noticed.
We came to the place in the road on the way home where a choice can be made on which way to go home… two roads in a wood. We can travel home either through town or country road.
I had to pick up my other son from his play-date so I turned toward town. My mother, on the other hand, took the road less traveled… and that made all the difference. I’m sure she got home first.
