Maine is a joy in the summer. But the soul of Maine is more apparent in the winter.

Winter is a season of recovery and preparation.

Ever since childhood, when I lived within earshot of the Boston and Maine, I have seldom heard a train go by and not wished I was on it.

Maine out of season is unmistakably a great destination: hospitable, good-humored, plenty of elbow room, short days, dark nights of crackling ice crystals.

Many small towns I know in Maine are as tight-knit and interdependent as those I associate with rural communities in India or China; with deep roots and old loyalties, skeptical of authority, they are proud and inflexibly territorial.

There are souls in this world which have the gift of finding joy everywhere and of leaving it behind them when they go.