I was in a hailstorm.
For all your covering-buildings-with-crappy-looking-old-plywood needs.
They let me pitch my tent in a beautiful little pine grove on their property. We were having tea last night when I mentioned that I hadn't played a guitar since I left New York. Charlie brought over a never-been-used guitar he had sitting around, and I sung them the few songs I know, including Pancho and Lefty, which happens to be one of Charlie's favorite songs (he recorded me playing it on a little dictaphone). This morning Margaret cooked us breakfast, featuring some eggs from her very own "happy chickens" (although one of her hens has started trying to crow).
He belongs to Curt, the nephew of the folks I stayed with last night. (Curt once rode his bike across the US, with a buddy half of the way and solo the rest.)
Brought to you by the LaPorte County Pioneer Cemetery Commission
To my wonderful mother and all the others out there, including all my new moms on this trip.
From left to right: Chris, Anne, Janelle, and Chris (there are many more family members who weren't in the kitchen at the time: Chris and Chris have six kids and a bunch of grandchildren). One of Chris's sons had seen me back down the road a ways and told Chris I was heading his way, so he came out as I was passing by and invited me in to have Mother's Day lunch with them. He also chased me down after I left to give me a package of home-grown beef sticks. And today's New York connection: Mom-Chris, whose maiden name is Wyckoff, is, in all likelihood, descended from a fellow Brooklynite.
