Day Thirteen

Thursday

3000 kilometers. Five tanks of gas. And about eight new pounds.Time to go home. Day thirteen was our rest day, before the start of the long trek back. And it rained all day long.

Rain, hell….stormed. King Lear –type storm. Look at the ocean…..

Luckily, we had a cozy fireplace in our cozy home, so we could snooze, read, listen to the rain, and generally mellow out.

Until the power went out.

Then ,we mounted up and toured around the Margaree
Valley. Starting with a tour of the only single malt distillery in North America.

The tour was a bit of a bust, and the taste of scotch they gave at the end was so small, no one could really tell what their scotch tastes like. Oh, well, it was warm inside.
We went back home and the Pilgrim played with the horses

Because the power was still out, supper at the Normaway
was reduced to soup and salad and their fabulous porridge bread,
so we got full somehow.
Right at the end of dinner, the lights came back on, so the barn ceilidh went ahead, and this is where you’ll have to use your imagination, because there is no way to describe how remarkable this evening turned out. We have no pictures, no sound recordings, no film. Just our memories.
The stage was full of seven players—three fiddlers, a flute player, a guitarist, and a young boy on banjo and mandolin. They played real Acadian music. More than this I cannot say. The best music of the trip. I only wish you had all been there. Truly. They played the clouds away.

We danced our way to bed under the dome of stars.