Still determined to get the most of our river experience, I was at the café by 6:30. It was grey and warm on the front porch, but as I stepped forward to the rail overlooking the main deck I found it was also raining. Across the water a developing breeze began to blow a heavy mist over the deck. (For those not from Oregon, we have at least 50 names for the kinds of rain. A mist is just a mild amount of moisture and needs not even mentioned when discussing the weather. A heavy mist may prompt the occasional use of windshield wipers and, unless it is heavy enough to drip down your face and soak your collar is, again, not worth mentioning. Actual rain would be considered a downpour in other regions, but not in Oregon. A true gully washer, something gaining the attention of NOAA, would be called a heavy rain. Finally, a rain strong enough to be named and categorized by the National Weather service might elicit discussion and the suggestion that the drought might be over. None of these would be of enough significance to cause a true Oregonian to use an umbrella.) I sent a text to Lyd to please wear a sweater and please bring an overshirt for me. I was determined that we would eat on the porch where we could see the water. Fearing that my bacon would blow from my plate as we ate, a problem I would later have with my spinach salad at dinner, we did move to a table a bit farther back from the railing.

We enjoyed our breakfast in solitude, the objects of admiration by the diners  inside the café, although it is conceivable they were questioning our sanity.

We elected to skip the tours de jour, to spend the day in the Mark Twain gallery, reading and writing. Many of our electronic endeavors were curtailed by the internet and Wifi working at minimal levels. Still, sitting in a cozy Victorian lounge whiling away the afternoon, with fresh cookies and espresso in the corner was not as terrible as it might sound. We were only driven out by an argument which developed between three ladies at the next table. Playing a board game for nearly an hour, they came to a disagreement as to whether the rules which came with the game were the actual rules, as two of the three played the game entirely differently at home.

We spent an hour exploring the upper decks of the boat, then found a secluded observation porch outside the gentlemen’s card room. We settled into two of the three white rocking chairs in that sunny nook, chatted, rocked, and watched the river go by. It was exactly the way it should have been.

Late in the day, we took a left and headed up the Ohio river. Our next port was to be Paducah, Kentucky at the confluence of the Ohio and Tennessee rivers. We were suddenly not the only boat on the river. The Ohio was crowded with tugs pushing huge barges making their way up river.

We had supper at the café, went to the musical in the Grand Saloon, a tribute to music of the50’s and 60’s from the South, then returned to the porch of the café for coffee and more river viewing. This is becoming the pattern of our evenings.

When we were in college at Oregon State, everything that we needed was within walking distance. Admittedly, it was a coddled lifestyle, never the less, it provided the unencumbered time that thought and study demand.  This boat is very much the same. We are comfortable, relaxed, and contemplative. We are afforded the time to see new sights and to ponder the course of our lives, both past and future. We are fortunate.

 

Blessings.

The Road