spruce goose

Wow. I can't say enough about those movers. They were worth every darn cent I paid. Well, not really. It was an awful lot of money. But the move, on the whole, was a very good experience. When all the boxes, bins, furniture and detritus had been loaded into our house or garage from the trailer, hobbitt and I found ourselves to be staggeringly tired and hungry. It was almost 3 p.m. What to do?

We decided to go to the Spruce Goose Cafe for lunch. It's a lovely little cafe at the Jefferson County International Airport, which is just over the hill from our community. (I'll have to post a picture of the long-term parking lot at the airport. I don't think they mow it very often.) The cafe is near the gas pump, self serve. Yeah, go figure. You can drive your plane right up, and they even have a ladder there for your convenience. You can tie your dog up, too, while you gas up the plane. The terminal for the charter company (flights to Seattle, Vancouver Island and the San Juans, hence, international) is a park bench with a roof. I don't know about the security arrangements.

Anyway, the denizens of the cafe are generally geriatric, and colorful. Several older men were playing some sort of dice game (for dollar bills) with the waiter behind the counter. Another older couple came in asking "Do you have pie?" A fellow who'd just gassed up his plane, and who then re-tied his spaniel puppy up on the porch of the cafe, came in for lunch. I guess pushing the plane back while steering with the rod attached to the front wheel worked up a hunger. Another fellow came in and took a call on his cell phone, then rushed out after saying, "We'll be ready to launch as soon as they arrive. Oh, we're already late? I'll be right there," before taking off across the runway on his bicycle.

How could I not love this place?