As we crossed the bridge into Cape Elizabeth, Maine, I was transported back to an early morning last December. My husband and I were at Arlington National Cemetery, waiting for the gates to be opened for the start of Wreaths Across America Day. We had only been home from Washington state for a few weeks but had begun to talk about where we wanted to go the following spring. We had narrowed our considerations down to two, but we were not thinking of anything right then except our veterans.
A group of police officers were gathered nearby, their conversations mingling with all the others going on around us. Then, above the din, the word “Maine.” Its origin: one of the clusters of policemen (this particular huddle contained no women). I don’t recall if Mister Rain and I looked at each other, I know we did not speak. I got up immediately from the low wall I had been sitting on, approaching the smartly dressed officers. A little blindness has not made me shy.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Are you from Maine?” One of the men replied, “Yes, we are.” I explained that we were from outside of Philadelphia, that we were currently researching a trip to Maine the following May. Four of them began to name towns we should visit: Portland (Portland Head Light), Rockport, Freeport (home of LL Bean), Camden. All of them were adamant that Cape Elizabeth not be missed with its iconic multiple lighthouses. They suggested we stay mid coast in Boothbay Harbor. From there we could travel north or south along the coast on Route 1 to each of these quintessential Maine communities.
A senior officer joined us, you could tell the way he carried himself that he was in charge, apologized to me, then told everyone it was time for a photo. I thanked the gentlemen, then my husband and I watched the assembly of bodies into a striking shot, their uniforms powerfully meaningful in this place.
I don’t think we ever talked about a different destination to visit after that, Maine it was. I started looking for a house to rent over the holidays, booking one right after the new year.
Five months and 478 miles from our nation’s capital, on our third day in Maine, three days before Memorial Day, we had arrived in Cape Elizabeth. I wished I could tell the policemen we had made it, that we loved it. We had found out later that day in December that those officers had been part of the team escorting the tractor trailers carrying the wreaths to Arlington from Columbia Falls, Maine, where the Wreaths Across America headquarters are located. Although they were not with us on our drive north from Pennsylvania, they most certainly led us there. Of all the military cemeteries in all the towns in all the world, they walked into Maine.
Sister Rain’s Note:
For more information about Wreaths Across America, please read the previously published stories below:
Wreaths Across America – The Day
Wreaths Across America – The Person
Wreaths Across America – The Essay
Wreaths Across America – The Craft
#sisterrain #alittlesightalotofheart #legallyblindtraveler #travel #wreathsacrossamerica #maine #hereslookingatyoumaine
