Today was an astonishingly clear and vigorously fresh wintry day, a strong westerly wind piercing atop the chestnut-coloured rubble of the farmers’ fields and flattening the icy waters of the wending river channels now restored to their darkened veneer from the erstwhile summer glitter. The dryness of the air was inexpressible. The sun shone brilliantly until it precipitously dipped towards the horizon late afternoon altering the blue sky to cobalt.
Though we hadn’t planned or intended to do so, upon awakening this morning we conceived to breakfast at Antrim Truck Stop in Arnprior. The traditional eggs and bacon style breakfast is to my liking. It was the work of a moment to prepare ourselves for the wintry outing. Soon we were motoring along the picturesque highway from Almonte through the tranquil Village of Pakenham to Arnprior. We sailed past the highly defined and predominantly grey images of the naked trees and unemployed empty acreage.
The Antrim Truck Stop is one of those modest stations in which the service, food, hospitality and cleanliness are predictable, unexpectedly gratifying and affordable. In my old age I haven’t the tolerance for anything other than convenience and comfort – cherished features which are miscalculated only by those who do not know differently. The young lady server (they’re all young these days) dutifully attended to our needs, first bringing us tasty black coffees then taking our orders and subsequently watching over us like a hawk.
Within the otherwise monotonous dominion of our lives we two old fogeys rejoice to be alive, to be together, to have friends and health and especially to be within sight of the Atlantic Ocean along the barrier island where we plan to perch for the winter.