11 Ordinary Things in Maine Nobody Expects to Miss Until They’re Gone

Maine Nostalgia

Maine locals know the lobster rolls and lighthouses are worth missing, but nobody warns you about the everyday stuff that’ll hit you with nostalgia years later. Here are some of them.

The distinctive Maine accent that you definitely don’t have

You insisted you didn’t have ‘the accent,’ but now you catch yourself pronouncing ‘idea’ as ‘idear’ and dropping your R’s in words like ‘car’ and ‘park.’

Your new friends find it endlessly entertaining when you get excited and suddenly sound like you just stepped off a lobster boat.

The glorious, fleeting perfection of Maine summer

Those precious 8-12 weeks of paradise that made the other 40 weeks of winter somehow worthwhile. Now you live somewhere with year-round ‘nice’ weather, but it doesn’t hit the same when you haven’t earned it by surviving February in Bangor.

The weirdly specific town rivalries

You’ve tried explaining why Bangor and Brewer have beef, or why people from York look down on Old Orchard Beach, but your new neighbors just don’t get these hyper-local feuds that go back generations. Some grudges are just too Maine to translate.

Knowing exactly what ‘wicked’ means in every context

It’s not just very or really – it’s an art form, a linguistic flourish that outsiders can’t quite master. Your new community gives you strange looks when you describe things as ‘wicked good’ or ‘wicked awful,’ completely missing the nuanced spectrum of Maine wickedness.

The unspoken understanding about tick checks

That casual pat-down ritual after any outdoor activity is ingrained in your muscle memory.

Your new friends are disturbed by how methodically you search your hairline and behind your ears after a simple walk in the park. They haven’t known the intimate terror of finding an embedded deer tick.

Red hot dogs that you didn’t realize were weird

You innocently mentioned ‘red snappers’ at a cookout and were met with confused stares. Apparently, bright red hot dogs aren’t universal, and now you’re paying exorbitant shipping fees to get your fix of neon-colored meat tubes.

The intensely personal relationship with weather forecasts

You used to plan your entire existence around Marty Engstrom or other local meteorologists’ predictions.

Now you live somewhere with predictable weather patterns, and it’s taken all the sport out of daily planning. Where’s the challenge in knowing it’ll be sunny and 75 degrees again?

The smell of the ocean at low tide

That distinctive briny, slightly sulfurous scent that out-of-staters wrinkle their noses at, but to you smells like home. Your new coastal friends insist their ocean smells ‘cleaner,’ but you know they’re missing out on the character that comes with dramatic tidal changes.

Italian sandwiches that aren’t actually Italian

You’ve tried explaining that a ‘real’ Italian sandwich involves a soft roll, ham, American cheese, onions, green peppers, tomatoes, pickles, black olives, and oil – not whatever fancy prosciutto concoction your new city offers. Some culinary traditions just don’t travel well.

The shared trauma of mud season

That special fifth season between winter and spring when everything turns into a primordial soup of melting snow, dirt, and broken dreams.

Your new home’s ‘rainy season’ is amateur hour compared to the character-building weeks of navigating Maine in March and April.

The unspoken code of Maine neighborliness

You don’t necessarily talk to your neighbors regularly, but you’d absolutely pull them out of a snowbank without hesitation.

That perfect balance of respectful distance and I’d-give-you-my-kidney-if-needed readiness is uniquely Maine, and your new community’s forced friendliness just feels wrong.