Poor Guy - I warned him about my snoring before we left. He is no longer an agnostic on the subject but has come to a full conversion and understanding. He appears dead to the world. I slip out quietly to do some laundry and check out the free breakfast. Turns out they have real food - pig meat and hen aigs. No fat pills - also known as donuts - for this country boy this morning. The laundry is free, so I load a couple of washers, then go get my ration of the basic food groups - fat, grease, pork and hot chocolate. My timing works great - the wash is done by the time I come back from breakfast. In the dryer it goes, as I settle down to catch up on the idiot box. The dryer buzzer goes off, and I grab my trash and go back to pack up. I'm thankful I have waterproof riverbags as I look out the window at the drizzle. Mark is there on his ST and Rob in his cage. RedBird is starting to get a complex - every ST so far is Wineberry and she's RadarRed. Oh well, they don't have the colorful riverbags, so she thinks it's even. We say thanks and good-bye to Rob, then follow Mark toward the cottage. We happen upon the famous Officer Bob, or should I say Officer Bobs - a whole welcoming committee. The first one waves me on and away I go, right by a TV camera crew. I give them a big wave as I whiz by - I guess I was on Canadian TV somewhere that night. Mark later tells me that I was supposed to stop at the last officer for a handout, but it was no big deal. Just a holiday roadblock checking for drinking drivers. As we leave the city, I check out the farmhouses scattered in the country. Reminds me of the hills of Tennessee. And again, am I glad for the Widder stuff. Got to figure out some electric socks, though. We stop and Mark asks us about taking a gravel road. I respond -

"Fine with me, it won't be the first time."

As we head down it, I am amazed at the quality of the gravel road. I'm used to washboard ruts and potholes big enough to spend two days in. This road is in great shape and an easy ride if you stay in the lane. We arrive at the cabin without a mishap.

I present my small gift of Martha White cornmeal and a bag of white beans. Mark and I ride in his cage to the local butchers to get some steaks and look for fatback or ham hocks for the beans. Not much luck on the pig, but cow is really nice. These folks really know their meat and are good at what they do. We run up to a grocery store for a few more things and do find some fatback so the beans will not go meatless. We make a bakery stop to pickup some fresh blueberry and pumpkin pies, then on to a local farm to pick up some fresh eggs. As we stand there waiting, I hear a horse knickering in the barn. I strike up a lively conversation with the lady of the house about horses, mules, kids and traveling. Having grown up in walking horse country, I really enjoy horses. I also find out from her there are not many mules in Canada, which comes as a surprise. Mules are a big thing at home. Columbia, TN has a Mule Day celebration every year - quite a hoedown. We head back to get the beans and cornbread cooking. Out comes the black iron skillet and we go to work. Miss Carrie cuts up a sweet onion (what would cornbread be without a little onion in it?) We toss the beans in the pot with some more onions and the fatback. As Mark grills the steaks, I spin some tales about my family from Tennessee - Abraham Derryberry, Daniel Boone's best friend; my granddaddy on my momma's side who used to be a bootlegger, moonshiner, and motorcycle rider of an old Indian; my momma who used to shoot spring lizards off the front porch steps with a 22 rifle from the couch; and other such colorful characters. The beans are about ready, so I ask Miss Carrie to come over and check them out. I tell her -

"You know, white beans ain't done less the spoon stands straight up in 'em."

She smiles at the imparted wisdom.