Hastings

6 more locks down and we pull up to the wall in the tiny burg of Hastings with our running buddies—no one feels like fixing dinner.  We are told the only place to eat is a little joint called Banjo’s so we picked up fellow travelers, Karen and Mark and the 8 of us make the short trek across the river. All the servers had on T-shirts that said “Order what you want, Eat what you get”—alrighty.  It took a little while to get a table and the attention of our server but once we did she was worth the wait.  Asked her name—she said it was Barb, but she had always wished her parents had named her Bianca.  So, of course, she was Bianca the rest of the evening.  Many of us ordered the special-- Arctic Char cooked in a bag—exquisite.  Fitz ordered the sandwich special and it came with fries with gravy (closest to poutine we have come).  When Bianca brought this she asked him if he would like vinegar—he asked her what she would use it on—she said “you’re not from around here are you?” Apparently they not only put gravy on French Fries but vinegar as well.  We fell into bed fat and sassy.

These geese were outside our door at Hastings--there are as many geese as people here!

Getting ready for Canada Day-July 1st, notice the giant ice cream cone

Terry calls these Pigeon Perches