When I was 12, after school every day, my best friend and I would go to the local five and dime for Coke at the soda fountain. We’d sit on stools and share the drink, purchased for a nickel, using separate straws. His dad and mom worked at a different school, respectively, as principal and teacher. We would wait until they came for him. Day after day.

The description might make me seem to be quite old, but parts of Maine are still behind the times—in the best ways possible.