MENDING WALL

Imagine a house without walls.
Imagine being able to step in, step out, around belongings with no protection.
Where would you sleep? Where would you dream?
Where would you compose love letters? Certainly not at a desk where the whole world could see you. Certainly not when you might be discovered, identified, embarrassed.
Where would you bake cookies?
Where would you take a candlelit bath?
Life is not a public event, but rather, a private journey.
A house is walls.
A house is warmth.
A house is shelter. From the elements, predators, from curious onlookers—voyeurs.
A house is the station from which we venture out each day.
A house is privacy.
No walls? No place to hang family pictures.
No walls? No doors to close or even lock.
We build walls to keep in what we want to save.
Walls go up to preserve what we prize.
Where would I conceal Megan’s jewelry, if not for walls?
Walls go up to prevent eyes from seeing what they don’t need to see.

This wall, this work of human hands, allows me to keep on my side of the wall what is mine, what is on the other side—your side—what is yours.
No fear.
No worrying.
No violations.
Peace.
Good walls make good neighbors.
Two men, four hands, block on block, foot by foot, growing a wall vertically, horizontally.
We could do it, you know. From the road, here, all the way, through the trees, to the edge of the water.
Walnut trees on one side, lemon trees on the other.
Yours.
Mine.
Yours.
Mine.
A beer?
I like walls. Don’t you?
They make a statement.
YOU’RE SAFE INSIDE.
YOU MAY NOT ENTER.
COZY.
MY FAMILY.
…
What in the world happened?
What’s this?
Isn’t this Maria’s scarf?
I should know it. I’ve seen it often enough, from fall to spring every year. Wonder if she left it out her yesterday when you were seeing your company to their cars.
Who, or what, knocked down our wall?
Did you see anything?
I didn’t.
I was busy with things inside the house.
Never even looked out the window.
Never would have noticed if I hadn’t chosen to go for a walk this morning.
This wall is such a fact of life I never question it. I just assume that it was here.
Hey, we’ve had it up for what—ten years now? —And never any trouble before.
Everything was clearly marked—until now. Things on this side of the wall were my things. Stuff on your side of the wall was your stuff.
Must have been one helicons storm to knock down this wall, scatter the stones like this.
Was it just a windstorm?
Must have been. Look, no mud, so no raindrops. No snow either.
Strange.
What do you say? Let’s put our wall back up?
Want to?
You get the pieces that fell on your side.
I’ll get the pieces that fell on mine.
I think Frost was right, you know: Good walls make good neighbors.
I mean: look how well we’ve gotten along since we built this wall!
What you do on your side of the wall—I don’t want to see it, I don’t want to know. It’s your affair.
And I sure don’t want people—want you—looking in on my life, watching every move, deciding they know more, are better behaved, than me. What, or who, gave them the right? That’s what I’d like to know.
That’s odd. Here’s one of my sweatshirts—Tabitha’s favorite. I wonder how it got out here?
I don’t think she went swimming this morning—not warm enough yet.
Not that we do anything wrong, anything illegal or elicit, you understand.
These people, running around, putting labels on other people’s accomplishments—who gave them permission to appoint themselves arbiters of taste, talent, and a life well-spent?
Let’s re-assemble this wall; keeping what’s your life on your side,
what’s mine on mine.
Any bleeding will be merely accidental, and we can clean it up later. Right?
It’s not like we never see what’s on the other side of the wall, you know.
If you want to visit me, there’s the driveway, which leads to the road, which you can take to get to my gate.
All you have to do is knock at the.
And I’m sure you’re the same way. All I need do is walk over, and you’d let me enter.
But that’s at our discretion. To let someone else see us when the mask comes off, when the lights are up, and we’ve stopped performing.
If I, for instance, want to dance in the buff, pick apples that way, or pay homage to the moon goddess—on my side of this wall, it’s my business and nobody else’s. Right?
Right.
Privacy is essential for our creativity, for our security, for our growth.
Have you ever heard of someone coming to an epiphany in a crowd?
Have you ever witnessed a miracle, surrounded by strangers and friends?
No. It never happens that way. It’s when you’re by yourself, when I’m enjoying my solitude, knowing that I won’t be interrupted, that I find the peace of mind that makes the day worth trudging through.
But now, it’s time to be together. It’s a beautiful day.
The sun is out, and there’s not a cloud in the sky.
How better for two friends to spend a day, marking off where their lives meet, divide, and become theirs.
You take care of the stones that have been blown to your side.
I’ll take care of the stones that fell over here.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each?
Have you ever read Frost’s poem?
“Mending wall” he called it. Two men work together to rebuild a wall that runs the length of the boundary between their lands.
And they do it together--like us.
No arguing.
No sniping.
No blame finding.
Just two men, four hands rebuilding
Something they built together.
You can hear the pride they take in their achievement.
This thing they build, this joint effort, allows them each to have a life.
Like us, all they have to do to share time is walk to the end of the wall, knock on the gate.
That’s all either of us has to do.
And they spend time together, gathering up the stones, reconstructing their wall. I’ll bet, if they had it at the time--and they probably did--they probably shared a beer or two in the process.
Want one?
Wait a minute. This is Patrick’s glove. I know. I bought the pair myself.
And he hasn’t been here since last week.
What’s going on here? Do you have any clue, because I don’t?
Oh well, it’s probably innocent, how these things are here, where the wall once was.
They wouldn’t take down our wall, would they?
Never mind.
Let’s get back to putting it back together.
So, how’s Sarah doing, her first year in college--and so far away?
Got a card from Patrick the other day.
He’s signing a contract to teach in Japan for a year. English as a second language.
It’s partly the money, and partly the time he’ll get to explore--that’s why he’s going. Otherwise, he could make a damned good living as a carpenter right here at home.
You’ve seen what he did in our house, those new cabinets, the countertops, tile-work?
All done by his hand.
Pretty ingenious, if you ask me.
But hey, I’m prejudiced. Can you tell?
Tabitha’s got one more year of high school, one more year of innocence.
Can you take these stones?
She wants to go away, too, to become a vet.
You know how she loves animals. Can’t stand to see them in pain.
Who knows?
She might become a chemist for one of those companies that make medicine. She definitely has the mind for science in the family.
God knows she didn’t get it from me though.
Sarah—has she picked a major yet?
Decided what she’ll be when she grows up?
A teacher, like Maria?
She’d be good at it.
I’ve seen her with kids—especially the wee ones. Just wait till she has some of her own.
Or, maybe, given her touch, a pediatrician? Good money there, too.
A painter!
You know, I saw an artist when we visited Carmel last spring, and she makes her living painting children into her pictures.
A sculptor!
A builder of things—maybe even an architect, designing skyscrapers that someone will build in the cities!
But she’s got time.
That’s what the first two years of college are for—deciding on the dream you want to pursue.
Two years of obligatory classes. Try this/study that. Read this/examine that. Like those aptitude tests they give in high schools nowadays.
Here, let me give you a hand with those. You only have two hands.
There!
Do you remember there being this many stones?
If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear they’ve multiplied over the past decade.
Did Meghan bring over the pies yesterday?
She made these apple pies—to die for! But we had too many apples, you know. Great harvest—for our little orchard.
So I told her to make a couple spare pies and bring them over.
Weren’t they just delicious?
I’m getting hungry just thinking about it.
Thanks, I’ll take care of these stones.
So glad they didn’t build that off-ramp over here.
I’ll gladly drive the extra mile to get to the highway. I don’t want the extra noise, the traffic. And the strangers.
Drivers making wrong turns.
People using my driveway to turn around, because they can’t read directions.
It makes more sense putting the ramp where they did, closer to the food and lodging travelers want, the gas pumps, the Quickmart, the coin-op laundry, the copy place.
I don’t really don’t remember there being this many stones!
How long did it take to build the wall the first time? Seven days?
And it was a hot summer that year, too, remember?
I must have sweated off twenty pounds just grunting.
Ninety-eight. One hundred degrees! Phew!
Seven days.
But we did it, didn’t we?
A labor of love. Stretching from the road to the riverbank, past the trees, down the hill, to the water’s edge. A testament to endurance, to teamwork, to sweat and blood, to friendship.
To each!
The boulders that have fallen!
To each!
Just your labor.
Of course, there’s nobody on the other side of me.
That’s open land. Nobody’s bought it since those Californians decided against it.
I don’t have to build a wall there.
There’s no neighbor.
No one to peek over the wall, wander over the property line, pick a few apples without permission-not that you’re not welcome to our trees’ excess. Just, I don’t want every hungry stranger marching across the line marked by the stakes I put in, just to explore my property.
If you want to go exploring, stranger, go to the national parks.
Yellowstone! Yosemite! Grand Canyon! Go hiking there. Go wandering there.
I don’t want new eyes watching me as I skinny-dip in my own pool.
I don’t want strangers eyeing Tabitha when she’s laying out for a tan. I want her to feel safe.
That’s why we moved out here in the first place. Me and Meghan, we wanted space. We wanted solitude. We wanted security, for ourselves, for our kids.
You know we’ll have to come back and patch this up by the end of the summer, really make sure that it sticks together.
Where did I put those stones? They were just here a second ago.
Look at it this way. If we do good work, we won’t have to come back to this chore for another ten--maybe fifteen years.
It’s called craftsmanship.
Do you still have that old pickup truck?
Still restoring it?
Now, that’s an act of love—two hands, making sure all the pieces fit, just so, the doors open without a squeak, the motor purrrrs. That’s putting pride in your work.
Of course, it didn’t look too good, that piece of junk in your front yard for a year or more. …
I know--you were looking for parts. It’s an old truck.
And you didn’t have a garage yet, then either.
Parked it under the chestnut tree—probably had to tow it there, huh?
But now it’s almost finished—a work of art almost fully-restored.
The chrome looks great!
The interior looks brand new!
And it’s parked in your very own garage, raised by our four hands, I might add. Out of sight, but never far from mind.
You’ll have to take me out for a spin in that thing when it’s finished.
By the way, I went over and shook down some of your almonds yesterday.
Don’t get mad!
It wasn’t too many.
Just enough for some cookies, that’s all.
I’ll let you take some apples, if that’ll make it up to you.
Just figured—the wall’s easy to climb there, because of our
apple trees and your almond, and we hadn’t gotten together, so
And there were the almond trees and nobody watching, so
I shook down a few.
Done with your beer?
Want another?
Before Patrick goes off to Japan, he’s going to draw up some rough plans for us. We’re thinking of adding some stone paths around and through the apple trees. Maybe a fountain. A few park-like benches, where me and Meghan can enjoy the spring, summer, and early fall evenings.
You and Maria are welcome, too, of course.
Just tap at the gate.
Have you ever picked cotton?
I did, once. As part of this group, we went to this ranch, or farm, or whatever they called it, and picked cotton, saw how it could seriously ruin someone’s back—all that bending over.
God, by the end of the day, I was sore!
No wonder anybody in their right mind wants to do anymore, and it’s turned over to machines. They won’t complain!
That’s what this reminds me of, this hard labor of moving blocks into place. Up and down. Up and down.
Oh by the way, while I was getting the almonds, I saw the trailer with the ski-boat.
So when are we going water-skiing?
That’s a pretty nifty boat. When did you buy it?
How did you pull it off financially? Got a gold mine I don’t know about?
How did you do it?
Come on, tell me. I’m all ears.
Sweat, lift, grunt, put down.
Sweat, grunt, lift, put down.
Can you imagine how many people it took to build the Great Wall?
Not just men, either. Women and children, too, I’ll bet. Repeating the same movements every day, year after year and all because some mucky-muck said so.
Did it work?
For awhile.
Till some genius figured out how to march around it.
Did you know that’s the only man-made thing visible from space?
It’s true!
The Empire State Building?
The Statue of Liberty? The Sears Tower? The space needle?
And the only thing discernible from space is the Great Wall!
It’s so big, so long, it took God knows how many years to work on.
And the thing is, they never finished it! Did you know that?
I’m going for more ice. Want another beer? We’ve been good neighbors, you and me.
When you moved in, I thought we’d lost our privacy.
But you kept to your business, tending to your land, planting those trees, landscaping.
How did you decide on almond trees anyway?
Me, I’m not partial to nuts. They get stuck in your teeth, and they’re either too salty or too bland.
Wait a minute. I think this is Meghan’s sandal.
Why not apples? Or oranges? Or lemons?
You could be making a mint in town, squeezing your own organic lemonade!
Meghan, how could you not miss your sandal. And what brought you out to the wall anyway?
I’m telling you, they’d drink you right into prosperity!
And then the tourists would come.
And that would be more money!
But then, I guess, you’d have to do something to speed up the process. Mechanization.
Trying to get more out of each lemon. Start cheating your customer. They’d think they were getting all the lemon. But You know it was part lemon, part water.
Just how much would be your secret.
It took me long enough to get to know you!
I wonder how long the sandal’s been out here.
It doesn’t look like it’s been exposed to weather.
It’s not wet. Not even damp.
Meghan, what were you doing outside?
What was it, almost a year, before we said our first “hello”?
Need a hand with that?
Let’s finish this group of stones, then take a
break, sit under my trees, savor some shade.
Not far to go, now. We can do it! Just to the tree-line!
Just as far as those trees, then I’ll bring out
some of Meaghan’s apple pie, One pie, two forks, and we’ll share a piece of Heaven.
I swear, you’ve never had better.
Too bad the kids aren’t here. They’d have this done in no time.
Where do they get the energy?
Why can’t they bottle it? Label it? Sell it?
No shortage of buyers!
…
YOUTH SYRUM! ONLY ONE MILLION DOLLARS AN OUNCE!
And people would pay it, too.
You bet they would! To have that kind of energy, even just for one day, get twenty-four hours’ worth of work done, even work around the clock until it wore off.
It would be worth it!
Yeah, Just think!
People would line up, single-file, money in hand, waiting for the stuff if they had to, and the line would stretch around the world, maybe even more than once.
And just for that opportunity.
Must have been one hell of a windstorm, to knock all of this
down in one night.
And see how the stones are so evenly distributed?
Some on your side,
Some on mine.
Debris, evenly distributed.
As if something, or someone, or a couple someones, maybe,
Got together to bring it down.
Meghan? Would you have done this?
Maria? Why would you want to tear down
Tabitha? We built this for your privacy, for your protection.
Patrick? Did you have a hand in this? Did you assist in the dismantling—partial
demolition—of this great wall.
Sarah? I didn’t think you had a destructive bone in your body.
What could have done this?
Or who?
If it were a wind-storm, all the stones would have been blown in one direction, either toward you, or toward me.
But, no, they’re just lying there, near where they’ve fallen.
Not rolling downhill into my apple trees. Nor down toward your workshop, where it might just have dented that precious truck you’ve been working on these last ten years.
Strange.
There’s been no rain, so we won’t find any footprints in mud.
We didn’t start till after sunrise, so there’s been time to cover any tracks.
It wasn’t an animal that brought it down.
And, come to think of it, it wasn’t the wind-storm—there wasn’t one, was there!
To each!
The boulders that have fallen!
To each!
Ready for another beer?
Wait here.
Good walls make good neighbors.


Copyright (c) 1998 by the author