Those who did not grow up in the northeast might think that we native New Englanders eventually develop sort of a blasé attitude about the change of seasons. Personally, that could not be further from the truth: for as far back as I can remember the process has inspired awe.
When we lived on a dirt road in rural New Hampshire, there were lots of walks. I walked alone, with my husband, and with my dogs with their blaze orange tags. Despite the fact that we were too close for hunting, we all had our orange blaze. To the uninitiated, we may have looked like part of the changing landscape but it was a form of communication that made us all comfortable in our wandering. At the risk of sounding like a bumper sticker, not all who wander are lost. Our wandering rarely had a destination, it was all about the journey.Our wandering rarely had a destination, it was always about the journey. Click To Tweet
As someone who has always loved photography, one would think I’d have — at the very least — hundreds of pictures of New England fall foliage. I don’t. I’ve tried, but quite honestly? They’re never good enough. I’m a decent photographer but those shots don’t even come close to capturing the surrounding beauty. I think it feels like living in a painting.
New Englanders are known for a certain hard-headed independence, captured in another masterpiece — one that is part of our psychic DNA. I don’t know if it’s as powerful in other parts of the country but for some of us, it’s a core experience.
The Road Less Traveled
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.
I think that the last stanza can be an anthem for entrepreneurs and creatives everywhere. My sisters. (And the occasional brother.) And, as I sit and write this, my heart tells me that, wherever you are, you are imbued with at least a little bit of that independent Yankee hard-headedness.
Do you have at least a little bit of that independent Yankee hard-headedness? Click To Tweet