I will never forget the day I stopped off in Maine to have a look at the construction of a covered bridge, and was standing at the entrance looking back for a few moments after having walked the length of the bridge. When I turned round I was somewhat disconcerted to see a buck-toothed character in dungarees (US= "bib and braces" ?), sporting a long hunting rifle and grinning at me from a distance of about six inches.   

Scenes from "Deliverance" flashed through my mind (as they do on such occasions), but he turned out to be quite harmless, and was intent only on shooting game for his pot. He seemed quite fascinated by the fact I was from Scotland, but I don't think he had the faintest idea where Scotland actually was.

I recounted the story to somebody later who opined that Maine was just like Arkansas, but with a different accent.