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The Road Not Taken
by Robert Frost
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.
Oh, how I love that poem. We sang it as a choral work in college. Its words have reverberated through my mind so often through the years, as I ponder life changing decisions I have made.
Have you made a few of those, too?
Somehow, that Sunday when the Big Bison came to tell me he had seen an ad in the real estate section of the Sunday paper for a house in the same neck of the woods where we had looked at property 5 years earlier, I knew, I just KNEW that I was on the cusp of making a life changing decision. I remember sitting on the floor of the bonus room of our old house thinking, “If I say, “No” to going and looking at this house, I might just save myself a WHOLE lot of trouble. And if I say, “Yes, let’s go look,” this could be something a whole lot more than a Sunday afternoon drive to the country. This could be – oh, my – this could be life changing. And I’m REALLY not sure I WANT to change my life. I LIKE my little house. I like my comfortable life style. I LIKE convenience.”
And then I saw that LOOK in the BB’s eyes. Dang it! That little boy excitement. That longing for an adventure. And I CAVED. Because I’m a world class sucker. And I flirt with the idea of being submissive (when it suits me). I mean, ideally, I really buy into the whole submission thing intellectually. It’s just the practical aspect of it that trips me up.
But on this day, I thought, “What the hey? I can dabble in submission. I can do this. We’ll just go look.” Kinda like Eve engaging in a little witty repartee with a certain serpent. I caved.
So we drove to the Boonies on that beautiful spring day, to the lot right next door to the lot we had looked at with Dad five years earlier. Drove down the driveway past the lovely (not) propane tank in the front yard, climbed out of the car to look at the brick house that sat backwards on the lot (odd, that) and stepped up onto the long front porch equipped with ceiling fans and rocking chairs, and just like that, we were hooked. Like a couple of brook trout. Hook, line and sinker, we were the catch of the day.
The house was great on the inside, too, but I think if it had been rotting away, we still might have bought it. I have to say, however, that it was a real plus that the house was nice.
So, here we are, where the deer and the wild turkeys play. Where Santa parked his deer on Christmas morning after a long night of work, for a well deserved Christmas brunch at our feeder.
Where my dear husband can shoot a wild turkey in his yard with which to feed his family.
Darn you, Steve Chapman, for loving my husband enough to teach him how to hunt. Darn you, Tommy and Heather, for inviting us out to sit on your deck in the country, one crystal clear, frigidly cold winter’s night, to watch the stars fall, with our babies snuggled on our laps under heavy blankets. You planted the “Live in the Boonies” seed that night, and I hold you at least partially responsible.
We finally took the road less graveled, and that has made all the difference.