When he entered he stopped in surprise. The building had been divided in half and now half of the room was a bar. The other half still served food and soft drinks where minors were welcome. He had seen the signs for beer along the road at the parking lot entrance but had not thought they were advertising for The Mustang. When he was last home this had been a family place and only served food. He headed for the café side and found a chair where he could look out the window at his old home town.Mac could just barely make out the roof of his parent's, now his, home through the trees and brush about a quarter mile farther down the road. He knew the line of trees and brush obscuring the old two story house was along a small stream running along the city limits of Prineville.He was looking out the window and remembering other August days when he was younger and happier. It was a typical August—hot and dry, very dry. It had already been six weeks since there had been any significant. It was a great way to cool off, having the sugar scoop stern made it easy to get back on board the boat, there was no need for a ladder to climb and get over the transom.Eventually, it was time to get back to our marina berth, once we had pulled up the anchor, Garry and I hoisted the sails, and we made our way back to Nelson Bay. At the marina, we had our showers, washing the saltwater from our bodies, then it was back to the boat to cook dinner; I had prepared some chicken satay sticks a few days ago, they had been soaking in their marinade in the fridge. I set up a charcoal grill in the cockpit, and while I cooked them, Lisa, Michelle and Fiona prepared some salads, and Garry set the table in the main cabin.After dinner, Garry and I sat out in the cockpit with our guitars, playing a few songs and singing, entertaining the girls. Fiona decided to get her mandolin and join us.“A pity Allison isn’t here, she could join us on her fiddle,” Garry said, Before long, we had several other.
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