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ALL
ROADS LEAD
TO THE SAME PLACE
Dec. 9,
2007
By Mary
Koch
One of the my husband’s favorite poems was Robert Frost’s,
“The Road Not Taken.” It was an apt metaphor for his life. He chose
roads “less traveled by,” living life his own way.
I thought of the poem as I shoveled snow from my driveway last
Sunday. Good neighbor Doug had earlier cleared the driveway with his
snow blower, but while I was at church, the city snowplow blocked all
ingress and egress.
It was still snowing, had been all night, and the roads were a
mess. My “road not taken” would be the 25-mile stretch of Highway 97
to Brewster, where I was scheduled to play piano for a “Messiah”
sing-along. I’d decided not to risk the drive, and I was feeling
guilty. The singers would be without the solid foundation a piano would
have provided.
When the poem popped into my head, it was like a message from
John: “Wise choice. Don’t take that road.”
“Yeah, easy for you to say,” I retorted. “You know full
well there was a time when a snow storm like this would have had us
snapping the skis on top of the car and heading for the mountains.”
Besides, it was a deliberate misreading of the poem. Frost isn’t
talking about not taking any road but about taking a different road.
Nonetheless I stretched the metaphor all week long. After the storm was
well past, I finally did head down the highway for pre-Christmas visits
with family around the state.
It wasn’t so much that I
took roads less traveled by. I found myself on well-traveled routes even
when I least expected. As I visited my mother in Tacoma, I watched
reports about Interstate 5, closed after it was inundated by 10 feet of
flood waters. That stretch of freeway was part of my route. Should I
give up and go home? Should I take a detour along two-lane highways,
adding at least an hour to my drive?
I’d decided on the
detour when, just before the turn-off, I spotted a highway sign
announcing that I-5 was finally open but “expect one-hour delay.”
Which road to choose? The detour would be a lovely drive but slow. The
freeway would be fewer miles, something to consider while burning
$3-plus gas, and even if I did have to stop for road-clearing equipment,
I could catch up on some reading. Unlike Frost’s leisurely decision, I
had only seconds to choose at 60 mph. I stayed on the freeway.
All along that
well-traveled route, the many times John and I had driven it together
echoed in my memory. Maybe I should have taken the detour and avoided
this longing, I thought. Yet earlier in the week I’d taken a totally
new route to attend a grandson’s Christmas concert, all the time
grieving that John couldn’t make that trip.
Should I choose roads less
traveled by or more? No matter. The journey is a lonely one, and that is
as it must be.
© Mary
Koch, Omak, Washington 2007
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