Characteristic throughout New England are stone walls. Robert Frost lived in New Hampshire and Vermont and wrote from what he saw. This clipping from his poem evokes pondering.
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun,
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, 'Good fences make good neighbors'.
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
'Why do they make good neighbors? Isn't it
Where there are cows?
But here there are no cows.
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
He will not go behind his father's saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, "Good fences make good neighbors."