And still counting. Lionel's routine gets back to nearly normal. Mark, my brother-in-law, and I bike up to the airport. It's a steep climb through pine trees then wild thyme to get to the top of a river terrace where you get a 360 degree view. Today the cloud has lifted and the Old Woman looks regally over the basin, sporting a crown of new snow. She's a small mountain with a rock tor on top. A distinctive icon for the district. Watchful in wind, hail, sun and snow. A beacon welcoming the gold miners of the 1860's home after a trip out of the district. I've grown to love her. The Old Man Range sits to the south west.
Lionel's reading his newspaper when we get home. We interrupt to take family photos then head to the district club for lunch where more of the locals stop by to say happy birthday.
The afternoon is quiet. I bike to the Wasterbusters to fossick for some cutlery and kitchen utensils to supplement Chris's meagre supply. There's any amount of everything down there. Stacked in shipping containers. Overflowing. overwhelming but ordered.
The family gathers for a quiet evening meal. I go back to the Club to have dinner with the local girls and their men. At 60 I'm probably the youngest.
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