Buffington Road is where all the Buffingtons lived. Three white, wood-frame houses all in a row. The first was my great-grandparents' house, the second, my Uncle Eric and Aunt Emily's house, and finally, the house my mother grew up in with her parents, brother and sister. My grandparents met here, my great-grandfather had a dairy farm here, my grandfather grew peppers here, my grandmother played old-time piano here.
I love this road. Visiting it is like running your hands over an old wall, as if the nooks and crannies beneath your fingers will tell you their secrets. You step onto the old land and wonder if it recognizes you. Does it say,'Oh yes, we know your kind.'? I like to think it does.
I dream of this place a lot, maybe because I live so far away, I'm not sure. But it is ever with me and so to pay homage to a dearly loved place and family, I christen my little baking endeavor, Buffington Road. It represents something old, something Southern, something steeped in tradition, yet changing and amenable to new life and ideas.
Photo l-r: My grandmother, Marjorie Buffington, my Uncle John, my Aunt Diane, my grandfather, Bud Buffington, and my mother on Buffington Road.
