Machiasport, Maine

My maternal great grandparents' old house is so welcoming. She sits beside her twin, known as the 'Ruth Brown house', their triplet long gone, perched a hill overlooking the tidal Machias River. Dressed in her fresh coat of paint, thanks to my brother Clark's hard work, she looks inviting, familiar, and always ready for company.

We arrived in record time, 5 hours, 50 minutes, straight through with no stops. Raspberry was perfect, a bit of singing in the first half hour and then stony resignation until the very last moments of the trip. We were on the hilly "Wesley Road", 12 minutes from the house, according to Goggle Maps, when she started crying and was sick to her little cat tummy in her cat case and... well, we couldn't get here quick enough.

For the Record,
This day came in cloudy and is cool an foggy now in Machiasport, Maine.

All hands thankful for this house and the fresh salt air.

An old photograph from my great grandfather's glass negative. Our house is the one in the middle. The giant(well it was monstrous to my eyes at 9 when I first came here) barn is long gone. Long gone along with the buggy and carriage hoisted up on thick ropes nearly to the ceiling, so dangerous that I was not allowed in the barn, but of course I peaked.