In a silent camp of old folks, long gone, homes abandoned for warmer climates. Alone, 300 miles north of “Welcome to Maine.” In a forest of color, a lake, a tranquil dose of peace, a hard won seven hour trip through a corridor of color named a New England fall. One unmentioned, old-world village, after another, nuzzled between a one-lane road across the mountains of Maine. Backroading through life.
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| Sunset in our campsite. |
