The Road Not Taken

One of the most well-known and oft-quoted poems is Robert Frost's The Road Not Taken. Typically, the poem is interpreted as an ode to the individual, the search for independence.  Over the Labor Day weekend, my wife and I traveled through our state, staying far away from the interstates and upon old country roads that pierce near-forgotten towns.  As we made our trip, it occurred to me that, perhaps, the poet meant something else.  Perhaps, we are not to seek the new but the old and forgotten.   

The interstate system, the brainchild of the Eisenhower administration in the mid-1950s, was designed to send our population more quickly and more predictably through our country.  In the process, our society has mirrored what the interstates have become.  In some ways, we have become a collection of homogenized businesses and housing developments that do not speak to our uniqueness.  Indeed, we have become the road most traveled.  Over the decades, smaller towns have declined, cut off from the new commercial thoroughfares.  These towns have watched their once popular and thriving downtown areas slowly sink with shuttered and boarded up store fronts.  Some of these towns have found ways to revitalize, whether it is to host artist galleries, antique shops or tourist ventures.  Old towns have been able to turn their old buildings and institutions into attractions. Visitors are not flocking but they are coming.

As great as these old towns are, with their quirky shops and tasty, locally-owned restaurants, what I took the most pleasure from was the drive along the timeworn roads that were once the highways of their regions.  I love watching the rolling plains of the countryside, as farmers till the soil or horses roam and graze.  If the interstates are flanked with chain fast food spots and big box stores manned by ambivalent workers, the back roads have eccentric business where enthusiastic, colorful vendors sell everything from firecrackers, to animal lawn art to abandoned cars-turned amusement parks.  One drives through territory that appears unchanged since settlers first visited.  It is an amazing experience. 

As I drove, much slower than I normally do, along these deep-rooted roads, my mind goes back to the poem of the road not taken.  These roads hold the true nature of America and some of the older values of my country.  I consider the fact that people who are being overtaken by a faster car will merge onto the shoulder and allow the person to pass.  This is not seen often on the interstate where some drivers take it as a personal affront.  I consider the waving to oncoming drivers and people working or relaxing on their front lawns.  The value and the assumption of friendliness is what people expect in these more rural regions. 

My wife and I considered whether we could live in some of these small towns and as a teacher, I often wonder if I could adjust easily to a small-town high school.  We are so use to the multicultural and varied experiences (food, entertainment and otherwise) that is characteristic of our little urban area.  We enjoy these variations and would certainly have to alter our expectations.  Yet, I wonder if it would serve a greater good in the long run.  Sometimes, when I make my anti-technology rants or speak of the allure of the smaller town or rural area, I worry my wife thinks she is married to someone who will, eventually, try to live on an isolated farm in Montana, way off the grid.  I don’t think I’m that severe but the idea is appealing.  I seek that road not taken and perhaps, it is about a return to what we’ve lost.