He was a Canadian, an attorney, he said, still practicing in Winnipeg. But he’d been spending April in Gatlinburg for almost 50 years. He and his wife would come with their son and daughter and explore the mountains on horseback, getting to know every scenic vantage point of Mount Le Conte, every turn in the bumbling Little Pigeon River. After the son Rad died and after the daughter was grown, Mr. B and his wife had kept up their visits. And he still continued to make the annual trek even though his wife had died three years ago. The mountains and the valley were touchstones for him, sites of pleasant memories that were revived with each visit. "I’ve had a love of my own", he said, his eyes misting. He asked detailed questions about our wedding and told us in detail of his own, some 60 year earlier. During brief periods when a conversational lapse threatened, he softly hummed "Hello, Young Lovers", the song from The King and Ⅰ. That night he sat alone during dinner, careful, he later told us, not to "get in love’s way". But he glanced often in our direction, and we knew he was not alone; he was deep in reverie, dining with his own true love.