Midcoast resident Heather D. Martin wants to know what’s on your mind; email her at heather@heatherdmartin.com.

Maine is a land of traditions.

Some of them are beautiful. A few are even profound. Some of them are distinctly odd. Most of them are seasonal. None of them (or at least none that I can think of) are pretentious.

Which, in its own way, is another one of our traditions. That plaid-clad, down-to-earth sensibility – even in the face of, or maybe in direct response to, the wealthy visitors who hang out here each summer – is part of who and how we are.

Which I love.

I do not understand the manicured sophistication of other places, the neighborhoods that are architecture’s embodiment of camel-colored sweater sets. I feel at home where things are a little less… polished, a little rough around the edges.

All of this has been much on my mind of late. What with our impending move back up the coast to take over the family home after my mom’s death, I’ve been relying upon one of our most time-honored and underrated traditions: the informal roadside free spot.

OK, I don’t think that is the actual name for it. I’m not really sure there is an actual name for it. But I’m fairly certain you all know what I mean.

It is that thing we do where we take something which still works just fine, but which we no longer want or need, and we place it at the end of our driveway or lawn, close enough to the house so it is clear it wasn’t tossed from a moving car as litter, but out of the way enough that a person can pull over without causing an accident, and then someone else, who does want or need it, comes along and takes it away.

Sometimes, we will take the extra step of putting out a sign that reads “Free” propped up against the sofa, or playpen, or barbecue or whatever. If we do? The sign will be handwritten, usually on a scrap piece of plywood or cardboard.  But really, the sign is optional. Everyone knows the deal with roadside stuff.

I’ve called it a tradition. I suppose it might be more fitting to call it a habit, or maybe even a custom, but I am sticking with “tradition” because of the sense of gravitas that goes with it.

Having had my own share of kitchen chairs and end tables acquired this way, it feels very gratifying to set out a thing for someone else. I feel very competitive about it, too, there’s a strange sense of pride when whatever it was is already gone by my next trip out with an armload of goods.

So far, between the house I am trying to pack and the house I am trying to empty, I have sent back into circulation the following: one trundle bed, three bureaus, a few mirrors, several stacks of fabric, an iron, a weird fake rattan shelving thing, a bunch of books and many garden tools. Oh, also multiple ghastly ceramic figurines and a slew of pots for houseplants.

My husband decided (nobly) to take it high tech and instead post things for free on social media… no dice. Nothing but lengthy questions and judgy commentary resulting in him saying, “But it’s free!”

At the end of the driveway, though, happy neighbors. In fact, in what is a first for me, whoever it was that took one of the bureaus circled back to leave a handwritten thank-you note tucked under a rock on the garden wall. How kind. It made my whole week.

Anyway, my point is, in a world increasingly dominated by division and suspicion, by doorbell cams and gated neighborhoods, this simple act of open source resource swap among neighbors (strangers welcome) seems like an outsized gesture of goodwill and shared humanity, practiced in our understated way.

I am grateful for it.