After crossing the hazy White Mountains, we arrived in a sweet town called Gorham, New Hampshire where we came across a craft foods store called The Butcher’s Daughter. There we ordered the most amazing sandwiches we have ever eaten. They were not only delicious, but huge. Even a crazy sandwich guy like me could barely chomp through half a sandwich. Those leftovers kept us going for days.
The Butcher’s Daughter name and business came about from a very difficult time. In 2020, owner Kim O’Leary had lost her job, and soon after, tragically lost the person who most inspired her career in the food preparation business, when her father died unexpectedly. He was a beloved butcher in the community.
During this sad family time, and with the Covid pandemic full blown, Kim stayed with her mother where they spent plenty of time to talk about love, life and future plans. One day, with the support of her mother and executive chef husband, Brian, these talks led to Kim’s decision to open a food trailer in town, specializing in creating awesome sandwiches. The name was her mother’s idea and is a testament to Kim’s love for her father.
Today, The Butcher’s Daughter is a thriving business in Gorham specializing in homemade foods of all kinds. It is definitely a must stop family-run place for anyone looking for an awesome sandwich or nice meal on the road.
After lunch we proceeded to our next stop in beautiful Bethel, Maine. Bethel is known for many things, but skiing seems to be most important to the town and you can see why. It’s nestled in a stunning valley surrounded by the mighty Androscoggin River, and towering green mountains in the distance.
We were excited to get out on our second day for a nice hike to explore Bethel and the surrounding area. Bernadette was packing our picnic (courtesy of The Butcher’s Daughter) and Gordie was ready to show that he is not just a sleeping dog after all. This is when calamity almost struck when Bernadette informed me that she had lost her sunglasses. This gave me a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach which got even sicker when Bernadette sniffled, “I think I may have accidentally thrown them out in the garbage.”
Of course, there is only one person on our team responsible for taking garbage to any dumpster and that person is me. I visualized my jaunt to the dumpster a few hours earlier and my massive swing of the great green bag into the stinky abyss. That stinging, oppressive smell haunts me just like all dumpster smells do. And now, with Bernadette staring sadly at me, I knew I had no choice but to walk back to the dumpster to retrieve that morning’s garbage.
After taking a deep breath, I hoisted myself up the side of the dumpster, where I was able to spot our bag of garbage. It was nestled at the very bottom of the dumpster surrounded by other stinky garbage, and an empty pizza box. The only way I could get it would be to boost myself up onto the side of the dumpster and hang over to grab the bag. I took a deep breath and leapt.
To my surprise, my leaping momentum proved astonishing and kept me going full speed until I was doing a full-on feet-in-the-air Russian gymnast maneuver at the top of the dumpster! Precariously, I struggled with every ounce of strength to stop from somersaulting right over the edge and into that terrible trash. It was horrifying, but eventually, and only with the assistance of higher powers, I was able to stop my potentially life-altering flip.
I took another deep breath and leapt for the second time. This time I was able to land on the edge of the dumpster. I reached over, swatted the pizza box out of the way, and gingerly grabbed a corner of our green garbage bag and slowly dragged it up and out of the dumpster. The stench hurt my nostrils as I opened the bag and began to feel around. It was disgusting in every imaginable way. This is precisely when a sunny-voiced Bernadette called out from Ladybug, “Honey, no need to get the garbage bag back. I found my sunglasses. They were in my sweater pocket all the time. Silly me.” I tossed that green garbage bag away for the last time that day. “Damn dumpsters,” I mumbled.