Maine still haunts my dreams. My late father owned a little farm outside of Portland in the outskirts of a town called Sanford for a few years when I was in grade school. I've always had asthma and severe allergies. But the woods were so beautiful (I can still see the trickling streams running through them) that I ventured out and explored, no matter what.
One of my most "memorable" childhood experiences happened in Maine. I attended a youth camp while I was visiting. There was a loudmouthed bully of a girl who had a pack of like-minded followers. I made the mistake of calling her a stupid cow (or something like that) under my breath - but not softly enough. I found myself getting my a$$ kicked behind the arts and crafts building by this lovely bunch of girls. But in their defense, I was from "away."
My first black eye.