Hannah and I went to the beach on Wednesday. I think we were the only ones there. Well, us and a few seagulls. They liked Hannah’s whistling.

It was cold, for June. A storm front was moving in, the same one that brought a tornado crashing down on Springfield, and the wind whipped hair into our mouths and eyes. The Maine coast is beautiful, but stark. The only things that exist here are those that can withstand the battering of wind and waves and the sharp, salty air.

We stand on the beach and look out over the ocean and say, “We’re standing on the edge of our country. Right now, standing on the edge of America.” We sink our toes into the sand and feel like we’re a part of something much bigger.