Going off-island

Sometimes when I go off-island, I like it that I won't be known – that I can walk down the street and I won't be seeing anyone who knows me. It feels like a relief to be anonymous, and to not have to talk to anyone just because I happen to see them while I'm out going about my business.
But this past weekend I was in Portland, Maine, a small city I like very much because it contains both my daughter and really good restaurants with many vegetarian options, and I had a different experience. When I arrived in the city, I stopped at Whole Foods to get some soup. As I was sitting there at a table near the check-out, with many people passing me on the way out, I realized that I was disappointed to think there was very little chance that someone I knew would happen to come along and say hello. My daughter was working much of the weekend, so I walked and ate alone a few more times, and I kept missing the stray connections of the island; life seemed a little impoverished.
Sometimes when the season changes and I see more people from away, I guess at who lives here and who's new to the island – and I feel like I know. I've tried to figure out what makes me know, besides when it's the obvious vacationers. I know somewhat by how people dress, but it's more by how they move. There's more purposefulness to the walk of someone who lives here, but I think it's also that people who live in a place walk with more a sense of belonging there, the way a dog walks around its yard as opposed to how it walks out on the street. Unless it's a dog that roams – they always look like they own the town.