I live in Bowdoin. Maine, that is. No big whoop, I know, but jeez.
I’ve been here since early spring. My boxes of stuff followed slowly after me, carload by painful carload. So I guess the official date of becoming Bowdoin-ized can be argued.
Nonetheless, I am here.
How did I get here? How did the city boy end up coming to the country? Twenty years of urban living – tall buildings, apartment dwelling, traffic, noise, crowds. And now this: woods, fields, winding roads, trailers, farms, quiet.
Yep, I’m pretty sure we’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto!
Ah, well, this my friends is the story. Or will be. Part of it anyway. The rest, of course, remains to be lived.
Bowdoin it is. Stay tuned.
