Dear friends,
The miles between here and there stretch longer than I ever imagined. I’ve watched pine forests give way to mountains, farmland, then rivers and bridges that seemed to go on forever. Each state brought its own rhythm — a diner breakfast here, a gas station conversation there — all weaving together like a patchwork quilt.
But somewhere along the way, the air shifted. It grew crisper, touched with pine and something saltier I couldn’t name just yet. And when I finally crossed into Maine, I swear the sky opened wider, as if to say, you made it.
From the Porch,
Maribeth
