“Something there is that doesn’t love a wall”

So wrote  Robert Frost of his New England neighbor and their spring ritual to walk and repair the stone wall separating their properties. “To each the boulders that have fallen to each,” he wrote: We wear our fingers rough with handling them. Oh, just another kind of outdoor game, One on a side. It comes to little more: 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…