We had lunch at a proper American diner, Trout's Towne Restaurant, and I realised that British diners can only ever be pale imitations of the genuine, star-spangled, unpretentious original, with its friendly waitresses and military-themed menu.
Afterwards, Lori took me to her farm to meet the horses, pony and donkey (some hers, some tenants), the Naked Neck chickens, and Peewee, possibly the world's fattest and friendliest feral cat. A lovely vet came to file the horses' teeth (or 'float' them, as it is in the US), mock the Naked Necks ("What a freakazoid! It's like a baby dinosaur!"), and show off his knowledge of pre-decimal British currency.
My day of rural Americana was made complete when I saw a Mennonite at the petrol station.
Things I Ate
At Trout's Towne Restaurant, the best fried chicken ever (cooked in a pressure cooker first), followed by peanut butter ice cream pie. Now there's a bunch of words you don't often see together, and when you do, you know it's going to be good.