Our route from Narramissic to Hedgehog Hill Farm went through Buckfield, which we remembered from having gone to a juggling and variety show a couple of years ago. I was thinking of the road there as being narrow, windy, and long, through a forest to the middle of nowhere. Either I’ve gotten more accustomed to Maine roads or they’ve done some work on that highway, because it was lots smoother, straighter, and wider than I expected.<\/p>\n
Buckfield is still a tiny town, but there was a place to get lunch, a tiny pizza place with two booths and a table, the smallest restroom you’ve ever seen (just big enough for a toilet, but the door kind of angled in, encroaching on the space you might want for your legs — I guess employees must wash hands after using it, but that would have to be in the sink outside. You could understand the origin of the term “water closet.”), a nice pressed tin roof, and little signs, the kind you see in souvenier shops, all over the walls. One was sort of a gardening “to do” spinner, a flower with eight petals, each petal listing a garden activity like “plant veggies,” “clean potting shed,” “iced tea!,” “take a break.” Another said, “I only have two speeds, and if this one isn’t fast enough to suit you, I’m sure you won’t like the other.” Sandwiches for both of us, and one 20-oz soda to share, cost a total of $5.52 including tax.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Our route from Narramissic to Hedgehog Hill Farm went through Buckfield, which we remembered from having gone to a juggling and variety show a couple of years ago. I was thinking of the road there as being narrow, windy, and long, through a forest to the middle of nowhere. Either I’ve gotten more accustomed to … <\/p>\n