The winters are bitterly cold here, and the growing season short; the nights were getting colder and every where we looked people were waiting expectantly for winters arrival.
We found a small mom and pop brewery just of the road and pulled over for some lunch and 
perhaps a local brew.
Perched on a small, rocky hill, the farmhouse/brewery looked out over fields of harvested corn towards a small island in the river; the hostess told us the island is locked in ice thick enough to drive on in winter.
Turning South East we entered New Brunswick and finally saw the Atlantic, now very much feeling like winter was nipping at our heels, a frigid wind played with the brilliantly colorful, fallen leaves.
