The past never seems to give up on the state of Maine. Or perhaps it is the other way around. The present, at any rate, remains at best an intruder there, particularly in the heavily wooded coastal areas, which have adjusted to the automobile but not to the six-lane highway. In Maine the sturdy frame houses off narrow winding roads plainly belong to the century past. The people grow their own vegetables, chop their own firewood, bottle their own pickles and paddle their own canoes.
Where better than Maine, then, for a man to launch...
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