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What happens to me when I cross the Piscataqua and plunge rapidly into Maine at a cost of seventy-fice cents in tolls? I cannot describe it. I do not ordinarily spy a partridge in a pear tree, or three French hens, but I do have the sensation of having received a gift from a true love.
Maine is a joy in the summer. But the soul of Maine is more apparent in the winter.
We are tied to the sea, whether it is to sail or to watch, we are going back from whence we came.
Maine, my 2nd loved home. Come and visit some time! ~ CynthiaPS