 | There was a time when the roads were made of crushed rock and earth, and the only tracks through the whitest of snow, was that of footprints, paw prints, hoof prints, and the long, straight line of the sleigh. |
 | It was a time when the gifts of Christmas were made by loving hands and the holiday is a holy time of giving and sharing. Neighbors with more gave to neighbors with less, in the hopes of heaven and peace on earth shared by all. Time has past and much has changed but there is still a small corner of the earth where old values have not been lost. Where neighbors still share with neighbors and children still believe that to give is greater than to receive. |
 | There is still meaning in the magic of Christmas in the State where the Christmas trees grow. Where neighbors still drop by with cookies, breads, pies, and warm themselves by the kitchen stove. It's the spirit of, sharing, giving and caring, hanging wreaths upon the neighbors door. That's the spirit of Maine at Christmas time, from her mountains to her great Atlantic shore. |
 | You can find a farmer hitching up his horses to the sleigh the family's had for years, to give their children rides through the snow white countryside and the forest filled with timid white-tailed deer. It's the spirit of, sharing, giving and caring, hanging wreaths upon the neighbors door. That's the spirit of Maine at Christmas time, from her mountains to her great Atlantic shore. |
 | The family still invite their friends and neighbors in their search for the perfect Christmas tree, walking across frozen fields and rivers often times in snow above their knees.It's the spirit of, sharing, giving and caring, hanging wreaths upon the neighbors door. That's the spirit of Maine at Christmas time, from her mountains to her great Atlantic shore. |
