I told Walker a month ago I wouldn't know what to do with myself once we were more settled. What would I do if I wasn't traveling in a few weeks, or anticipating the next flight on our endless roll? Right now, we have zero flights in the hopper. We've been in New York 3 weeks, and you know what? Being in one place has been calming and good and I didn't want to leave. But, here I am, surrounded by lobster, warm sand, and cold air on a brief trip to my family's summer spot. Every year growing up, the windows slid down on the bridge into Maine and we all rated the air on its saltiness. Although I have some city posts simmering away, I'm anxious to send you some of that salty air and those tall pines, a spot of refreshment in the midst of the new life unrolling like new carpet over our little Scotland blog.

Portland's fish docks smell sea-old and fishy, but the lobster rolls taste sweet with not a hint of their murky place of birth.

Happy days.

The sound of the sea is in me. My mom was born in this town, and we enjoyed a day on the longest sand beach in Maine chatting with the aunts and uncles, laughing and trying to read the messages flown over the beach.

The seagrass lining the beach hides the sea from view as you approach. I think of it when I think of Maine.

Our toes nearly froze themselves off in the icy water. There's a thrill in that first shock of cold, but then the cool layer becomes the perfect compliment to the sun.

As the Mainers would say, So he-ah we ah. So here we are breathing, slowing down.

Coming back is always sweet and good.