I was talking to my niece, Meaghan, last night about her recent trip “up north” — Massachusetts-speak for ski, beach, hiking and all recreational destinations in Maine, New Hampshire and Vermont.

Meg and a bunch of her friends headed up north over the weekend in search of snow — a limited commodity during this year’s mild winter — to do some snowmobiling. Their destination was just a bit south of the U.S.-Canada border, so I was a little bit surprised to learn they spent as much time exploring on foot as they did on the trails.

“We were at the 45th parallel, Aunt Lisa,” Meg told me. “It’s halfway between the equator and the North Pole.

“And we went to the Connecticut River where it’s the border between New Hampshire and Vermont.”

Meg’s report triggered a memory from my own childhood when, while vacationing on Cape Cod and walking back to our rented cottage after a rousing game of mini-golf, my mother straddled a line on the street and declared: “I’m half in Dennis and half in Harwich.”

I was maybe 6 or 7 years old and I was fascinated by the idea of being in two places at one time. The downside is I started to become aware of geographic boundaries.

Fast forward to adulthood, and the magic is gone. Countries and states, emirates and provinces exist based solely on the lines — based on geography and culture — we draw in the sand.

Progress? I’m not so sure.

— Lisa Matte, editor-in-chief