Over at the station
We spent the afternoon hanging around the train station, watching the two passenger trains come and go. Only one derailment while we were around, due to an enthusiastic gentleman in the last car, but the crew simply lifted the trucks back on the rails and off they went, down an impossibly steep grade. Son #3 made the trip, and reported new infrastructure. I was too busy chattin’ up the ladies in the waiting room to get on board, but I caught up on all the local news.
We decided to check out a new lead on a piece of property, and the view was entirely to my liking. I’ll have to see how good an offer the agent wants to accept a new name on the mailbox. The mailbox, a disappearing part of the local landscape and social structure. It used to be that one knew who lived at the end of every lane. Not any more. Even with the help of a local guide, finding an elusive relative can take days. I found my aunt and new uncle, but only after four trys.
Supper was at the Cape Island Pub and Restaurant in Cardigan. Any time the parking lot is full, you can accept that either the food is great or your timing is terrible. Change my or to and, in Boolean logic. We did have a good table, with a waitress that notified us right off the top that it was her first shift in that room. I replied that it was our first visit, so the two facts should cancel out any problems. We had an excellent crab and pita dip for the starter; it might be the tastiest dish we’ve had so far on vacation. Think hot dip with a Parmesan cover, and then some great bread in dip triangles. We didn’t mind that supper took us more than an hour, because the food was good and the pop was bottomless. On my recommended list.
I sent us home the “back way” following random clay roads that headed eastward. The driver was a bit nervous, as she still doesn’t trust the GPS (either the dash model or my inborn sense of direction) but we arrived at destination all in the same day.
