As much as I love the Maine coast, I love the Maine woods. The soft floor covered with pine needles and smelling just like a balsam pillow. Lichen and moss in all shades of green. Strange mushrooms in a shocking array of colors and shapes. Ferns. Oh, and pinecones in every size.
I spent a lot of time in those woods as a kid, hunting for elusive Indian Pipes and Jack-in-the-Pulpits (and avoiding poison ivy). I even had a moss collection (which always dried up in a rather disappointing way). The woods have a strange, other-worldly light that makes one dream up the most fantastic stories. There is magic in there. I know it.
I'm off to read some John Burroughs.