1914.

That’s what the book says. The poems in this section are from 1914, the year Frost turned 40.

If I ever make it through these, I’ve gotta read his biography.

I know that my dad intentionally instilled in my brothers and me to think for ourselves. Honestly, he could have instilled a little more aggressively.

I don’t know if he intentionally instilled in us an obsession with why, though.

This poem made me think about my brothers, specifically the oldest, and myself.

“Why?” Frost so desperately needed to know, but he didn’t ask. Just thought it.

Perhaps because the questionee wasn’t able to receive it? Wasn’t ready?

Thinkers don’t grow on trees, ya know.