“Why are you doing that?” I asked as Maggie began stacking rocks that she had dug up on shore.

“It’s art,” she said plainly, “Beautiful, natural art.”

“You know,” I began, “Hikers do that in the mountains, to help mark trails so they don’t lose their way. Well, that’s what Steve told me anyway.”

“Well, Steve is the expert on all things outdoors,” Maggie said, smiling at her creation.

We had finally made it to Maine. Maggie, after being deprived of seeing the ocean since we took a detour of the East Coast, without ever seeing any coast, had begged me to stop in Portland. It was hard to not give in to Maggie sometimes. Besides, after being trapped in a car for so long, it was worth the fresh air.

We both shivered, it had been quite some time since I had ventured out of the blazing Pacific beach sun, and neither of us had climatized to the cold weather, and shivering waters. It was particularly hard for Maggie, because this was her first time into my summer world.