When my mother came to visit us here in Maine, one of her first stops was Ocean Point.

Being of the fresh air and sunshine generation, she liked nothing more than to sit by the ocean, breathe the salt air and listen to the waves and gulls.

In the hills of central Pennsylvania the closest thing we had to the ocean was the West Branch of the Susquehanna River, which on most days did not appear to move.    Up river, around the head waters near Cherry Tree, Pa., the river showed more signs of life.

On her first visit, after a plane flight and a ride from the airport, we zipped over to the Point, figuring she'd really enjoy that. She did.  After a quick spin along the shore we stopped near the Chapel and got out of the car. Mother was uncharacteristically quiet.

“Anything wrong Mother?” I asked.  

“Why are all these houses boarded up Bob?” she asked. “Don't people use them?”

“Only in summer,” I said.  She seemed puzzled.

“You mean, they have another house somewhere else?”

Hmm.

“So Mom, read any good books lately?”