Windows in Portland, Maine, take wind-driven rain off Casco Bay and then a freeze. Munjoy Hill and the Eastern Prom soak the sill and the meeting rail when a nor'easter blows onshore. The West End adds tall brick openings and wood sash that have settled. Storms that do not latch buzz through the night and trap salt water against the prime sash. The next morning the wet is ice. That cycle, not a mild winter rain, is why the apron stains and the stool swells.
A rotten sill, a snapped cord, and a vinyl unit foamed into a crooked opening are different jobs. Paint over rot fails on the first serious blow. Look at the inside stool. Fog between panes is a dead seal. Sweat on a single pane in a steamy kitchen may be cooking and a fan that goes nowhere, which these tight houses do constantly. Do not replace an elevation for humidity. A key that sinks into the sill means the wood is done.
Salt reaches the water-facing blocks harder than it reaches North Deering or a sheltered street behind the hill. The same sash style dies faster on the prom. Say which face of your house takes the bay. Odd sizes in brick are normal. A unit that almost fits leaves a gap the wind will use. A window that is a way out has to open after the repair. Bays leak where they join the wall, and that joint is a nor'easter target.
Weights and pockets are worth saving if the wood is sound. If the casing is mush, the opening is carpentry, and the wall behind it may already be wet from the last storm. Alley windows never got the paint. Mention them. Exterior work is kinder outside the worst of the blows, but the description can happen the day after, while the stain is honest. Do not wait until it dries and disappears into the story of an old house.
Count the bad openings and name the rooms. Have the neighborhood and the direction of the weather hit. Mention storms and bays. Call the number on this page.