Winter Sundays in the ’70s were spent in the back of my family’s wood-paneled Vista Cruiser station wagon shuttling to and from Sunday River. Even to a young punk, this particular stretch of road represented both the quiet before the day and the complete but satisfying exhaustion after a day of pounding down the slopes. I would eat any leftover food in the cooler on the way home to Brunswick, because I had spent all day keeping up with my older brother. I loved how complete I felt as I absorbed the serenity and beauty of rural Maine. I’m still a barn fan.  — Mary MacLean, Bozeman, Montana