Sheets of rain were blowing in horizontally, so I ducked and ran across the Machias Hannaford’s parking lot in a futile attempt to be, if not dry, at least less drenched.

Inside the store, water puddled at my feet. I wiped my face and pulled down my soaking wet hood to reveal dripping hair. Sorting something in produce, Wayne didn’t stop his work but looked over, took in the whole scene, and said just one thing.

“Rainin’?”

You can’t beat the people.

There are rules about who can call themselves a Mainer and by moving here at the age of 42, I missed the cut-off by 42 years and nine months. But I saw a bumper sticker in Texas that perfectly sums up how I feel.

“I wasn’t born in Texas, but I got here as soon as I could.”

Strike Texas, insert Maine.

It took my husband and me a long time, but in 2012 we figured out how to make it work in Washington County, Maine, and we’ve never looked back.

Washington County is the size of Delaware and Rhode Island, with less than 32,000 people stem to stern. It’s home to the easternmost point in the nation, called West Quoddy Head. It doesn’t have (many} sandy beaches like York, or the affluent history of Camden, and Rockefellers didn’t spend their summers here. But what it does have is remarkable.

These are the stories I want to tell you about Washington County, Maine.

- Sarah Craighead Dedmon