Mia Lasic-Ellis

A week or so ago, I went to the BCMA and saw the Gordon Parks exhibit. I spent some time looking at the photographs, and I kept circling back to one set centered on this quaint general store. There was something magnetic about it. The more I stared, the more I started thinking about all the general stores scattered throughout Maine. I thought about how maybe that’s how we learn about community. Community isn’t necessarily about town meetings or Facebook groups but is derived from the places that sell us coffee, eggs and a sense of belonging.

I grew up about an hour and 15 minutes from Bowdoin. The first general store I ever went to was Hope General Store. I remember walking there barefoot through the woods on summer break with childhood best friends, feeling old and independent because it was our first parent-free adventure. The pizza was greasy, the brownies delicious, the iced tea unbeatable. They carried Little Lad’s popcorn, which I still buy to this day. Hope Gen was the spot—all the cool kids went there.

It lives on a corner at a four-way stop. Downtown Hope doesn’t have much going on, but Hope Gen has been the town’s heart for decades. In Maine, general stores have been around since the 1800s as a central spot in all small towns. There’s something timeless about general stores, maybe because of the generations of locals that have walked through the same door. My friends and I used to whisper that the owner lived upstairs, never left, just kept baking muffins and keeping age-old secrets. It just fit the storyline. If you owned a place like that, you had to be the mysterious, larger-than-life character in every child’s imagination.

Then, the Lincolnville Center General Store opened up—LGS or the Center General, as we started calling it. LGS sat on the main street in town, across the street from Lincolnville Central School and a short walk from Norton Pond. Lincolnville had never had one before, and suddenly, we did. The pizza was fabulous and the sandwiches perfect. The prices were a little high, but that’s the cost of convenience. It became our unofficial town Hannaford, our “in case of emergency” store, our last-minute dinner plan. And yes, my younger self still pictured the owner living upstairs, probably with an old dog and a coffee pot that never turned off.

Over the years I’ve made a habit of stopping at whatever general store I pass while wandering through Maine. I tell myself it’s for lunch, but really, it’s for people-watching. You can tell a lot by a town, or a community for that matter, by their general store. I’ve been to Hope Gen, LGS, Owl’s Head General Store, Sheepscot, Port Clyde, Washington, Jefferson Market and a handful of others that have blurred together. Each store has its own story. Some are fancy, some are dusty, some smell like cedar and bacon grease. But every single general store has that same energy: a mix of friendliness and familiarity.

The thing I love most about general stores is that they level everyone out. No one has a higher or lower social status at the general store. The lobsterman, the painter, the finance bro, the mom, the teenager—they’re all there, waiting for sandwiches and chatting about the weather. Everyone remains the same. Similarly, no matter where you go, all general stores feel the same. The creaky floors, the bell on the door, the smell of coffee and old wood. It’s like stepping into a memory you didn’t know you had. Maybe that’s why they feel so comforting. They remind us of something simple and shared.

My favorite general store is Sheepscot General Store in Whitefield. Its farm supports their delicious cafe/deli and market area. Sheepscot General is a beautiful farm in Amish country with miles of farmland. The store carries more local farms than you can imagine—all the familiar names are here. From their salsa to their milk, or eggplants and sauerkraut, it’s local. Their sandwiches are legendary, but a cookie is required afterward. It’s the perfect spot to chat the day away with a good friend.

All in all, Maine general stores shape our understanding of a town’s community, leaving us with deep knowledge about our town’s personality. If a town is without a general store, it shares the love with the neighboring town—another beautiful love story. And in supporting these local stores, we honor the Mainers who came before us, keeping their spirit alive with every visit.

So, I’ll leave you with this thought: Maybe the general store isn’t just where you buy your coffee, it’s where you share a collective love for a place with everyone around you. And perhaps, the next time you pass by a new town, you stop in for a cup o’ joe.

Lily Mott is a member of the Class of 2028.