A pleasant drive down past Moncton, over the great gas divide, into Nova Scotia. The first view of the province is now marred, or enhanced, by a skyline of giant props. I understand this windswept flatland is a practical place to build something like this- but I'm not sure it's the welcome I want as I roll in from away.
I usually stop here and stretch my bones. I think I've heard pipers here in the past. Today, I roar by in the Lincoln. I've got to make my gig in Hubbards. I'm not in a big rush, but I don't have time to spare, either.
Wilma and her brilliant staff feed me well, fill my wineglass with local red, and help me set up. It's a good sounding room. A few folks come out from Halifax- not as many as I might hope for, but enough for a comfortable little show. I play really well. Some nights are just like that. I hear it all, I tell some stories. It's good to be back in Nova Scotia.
After the show the staff go dancing at the Oceanside. I decline. Tonight I sleep. Lotta shows between now and Christmas time.