While a sense of community is nice in that people become familiar and may even remember my name, last week, after four years, I was greeted by name and and given hugs at my old local haunt in North Miami Beach. I always thought Hemingway said the best way to make friends is by leaving a big tip, ensuring that your face is remembered at the bar, though I don’t recall paying enough for this type of annuity.
Today I found my ancestral homeland. I rented a car in Poitiers and as it turns out, the woman at the Hertz counter was somewhat of a historian. I started the drive to Ferme Acadienne, a place where some French who went to Canada returned and set up a refugee colony. There weren’t any Rangers that came back from the original migration.