Need a Lift?
In small-town Maine nothing is ever forgotten.
Margaret Adams
To combat the stir-crazies of moving back in with my parents in small-town Maine for a month, I walk all five miles to Miller’s general store, a log cabin on the main road, and back. Problem is, every third car stops to ask me if I need a ride. I figured that after four years of living away, I wouldn’t know so many people on the road. Turns out it doesn’t matter: people stop to offer the twenty-something girl with boots and a baseball cap a lift regardless of whether or not their kids went to elementary school with her. And then my mother wonders why I [for the rest of this story, see the December 2007 issue of Down East]
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