When I was a young girl, introduced to Robert Frost’s poems, I immediately became enamored with his words. I felt a kinship, his poems about the seasons, New England, and life’s everyday choices resonated in my soul. I am not a scholar, nor do I profess to be an expert on Frost. I know what has meaning to me and brings me joy! Even all these years later, when I reread my favorite poems, I discover fresh nuances hidden between the familiar words on the page.
I grew up in Pennsylvania, far from Frost’s New England. Then fate stepped in; I married a New Englander and moved to Boston. Years later, another coincidence happened, my husband and I purchased a vacation home in New Hampshire not far from the Frost Place in Franconia, NH. The farmhouse is where Robert Frost and his family lived full-time from 1915 to 1920 and spent nineteen summers.
Touring the farm and viewing his possessions – like the desk where he wrote – I understand the inspiration for many of his poems. The house is a straightforward, honest, remote, classic New England farmhouse without any pretense situated in the White Mountains with gorgeous views from the long front porch. I can imagine Frost perched in a wicker chair with a commanding baronial scenery, breathing the clear autumn air, drawing inspirations for his works from the majestic surrounding vistas.
Autumn is magical in the White Mountains, especially October, nature’s premiere season, and Frost’s Poem ‘October’ captures the majestic beauty on display. I am partial to fall and love to celebrate the season. When the leaves peak in October, forming a breathtaking backdrop, I sit in my study and read Frost’s poem ‘October,’ transported to my youth, and I remember my initial exposure to the beauty of his poetry with the first line.
“O hushed October morning mild, Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;”
Finished reading, I am filled with gratitude for my old companion, peacefully basking in nature’s glory, preparing for the change of season, and approaching winter. All is right with the world!