We checked in and unloaded our stuff and proceeded to go check out the local antique shops. There's not much of anything else in Mentone besides woods and cliffs. In the White Elephant, we ran across something I would only refer to as My Sad Unfortunate Tacky Pony.

Ewww.

(We went back to the White Elephant the next day and Deb got some stuff to use with her beading and I bought a humongous steamer trunk that wouldn't quite fit in the MINI. We had to tie down the boot.)

We had brought sandwiches with us because Glenda The Good Innkeeper of Northeast Alabama warned us that nothing was open on Sunday night, but the Log Cabin Deli was still open, so we ate there. Eh, nothing special.

Then we made ourselves at home in the sitting room, read, journalled, drank wine, ate fudge, and later retired for a little sweet Sweetie's Birthday Trip lovin'.

Just look at how cute my wife is.

Coffee and a caraffe of hot water for tea was ready for us in the morning, but Glenda TGIONA had woken up with a pukey headache and said she could not even think about cooking bacon. She gave us two choices for nearby breakfast restaurants and said she'd knock $15 off the bill.

We chose the Tiger Inn Restaurant, which sounds slightly more exotic than it really is.

That was one of the best breakfasts I've had in a long, long time, and our tab was less than $10 for both of us. The biscuits were fluffy fluffy fluffy light, with good sausage gravy. The hash browns, though they started out frozen, had the perfect crisp on from the grill. Grits were good. Tenderloin was okay (just a pounded out piece of beef with lots of pepper on it). And the old men at the next table really reminded me of the farmers who would gather at my grandfather's general store and talk around the pot-bellied stove. Oh, and the coffee was excellent, too. I think sometimes it's just those thick white restaurant mugs that make it better. On the bulletin board was a handwritten ad for home made pickled eggs.

Back we went up the mountain and walked out on a little street that runs the ridge, looking at the houses of the lucky locals who get the wonderful view. We went inside the Methodist church and found, on a sign on a cart full of food and supplies for the needy, a reminder that some mountain folks might try to put the meth in Methodist.

And last but certainly not least, the part I'd been looking forward to, we went to DeSoto Falls (see amusing rescue anecdote here) and hiked around DeSoto State Park for almost two hours, working off some of that breakfast.

Again. Wife. Adorable.

And, your standard waterfall shot. This is some of the lower runoff of Indian Falls on one of the hiking trails.