The loaf of bread came out of nowhere.
The surprise — and tasty — home-baked offering was left hanging from my mailbox with no indication of its origin.
Mary Ripley, I later discovered, would prefer it that way.
The Charlottetown woman with a heart of gold doesn't want any fuss made over her generous spirit.
Ripley explained that she selected my home for the simple reason that my 11-year-old son Jack, sitting on the front porch humming a tune, caught her attention as she rode by on her bicycle.
"He seemed to have music in him,'' she observed warmly.
And, for any number of reasons that catch her fancy, Ripley has dropped off loaf after loaf at one home or another.
For 11 years she has been doing this. To date, she has baked and biked some 5,000 or so loaves of bread, hanging the food on doorknobs and mailboxes.
So just what is the motivation behind Ripley's goodwill?
"I just thought it would be nice,'' she said matter-of-factly.
"I don't do it to get anything. It's just nice.''
While Ripley certainly never started baking and delivering bread for any monetary gain, she was disappointed by the lack of appreciation shown by many recipients.
For years, she chose to give bread to people she would see around the city -- people she deemed to be not too well off.
Still, the indifferent -- perhaps even entitlement -- attitude that often persisted among the recipients of the bread did not make Ripley hit the brakes on her bicycle. She kept baking and delivering to this group for a good, solid decade.
For the past year, though, she has shifted gears.
She has been delivering her home-baked bread to residents in a more affluent part of the city -- and a select, lucky few are greeted by carrot cake or cinnamon rolls when opening their front doors.
The ensuing immense gratitude has warmed her heart.
"It just blows me away the way people appreciate it (now),'' she said.
Appreciation has come in a variety of forms, from offers of pork to movie vouchers.
Two women even gave her a thank-you card containing a one hundred dollar bill.
An enclosed note included the following observation of Ripley: "Always smiling, despite the nasty weather . . . meanwhile, the rest of the world is going to 'hell in a handbasket' and there you are a trooper -- going strong.''
At 62, Ripley is feistier than many half her age.
Inclement weather isn't enough to keep her off her bicycle.
With sturdy resolve, she navigates her bike in rain, strong winds, and throughout the cold of winter when road conditions allow.
She carts her groceries home by balancing several bags on either end of the handlebars.
Ripley, who has never owned a driver's licence, also bikes a good four or five kilometers each day -- every day -- heading to and from the home of Elaine Mackenzie.
Ripley provides home care for Mackenzie, who has Parkinson's disease and needs a walker for mobility.
Mackenzie knows money is not what motivates Ripley to peddle over every day to cook, clean and converse.
The daily outing is more a labour of love, than a job, Mackenzie rightly observes.
"She is very conscientious, she's very kind -- and loving,'' she said.
"I wait for her to come. It gives me something to get up for.''
Ripley says Mackenzie can call her any time of the day. She adds there has never been a day when she thought she didn't want to make the trip to Mackenzie's home.
"I'm the most dependable person I know,'' said Ripley in illustration of her trademark wry humour.
That Ripley can be counted on is no joke, however.
Gerard Mitchell, the province's police commissioner and retired chief justice, has only praise for the woman.
Ripley cared for Mitchell's mother, Margaret, with great care and attention. She would offer reliable and upbeat companionship, taking Margaret out almost every day.
"She was very, very good to my mother -- very protective and kept her very lively,'' said Mitchell.
"Because of Mary she was able to stay on her own a lot more than she would have been able to otherwise.''
Remarkably, Ripley claims to have lead a dull life. If so (and I'm not convinced on this point), it comes after enjoying a colourful past.
Ripley spent the first nine or 10 years of her life having inmates -- not in-laws -- as next door neighbours.
Her father, who died when Ripley was just 12, was "head jailer'' of the old 1911 Jail that now houses a pizza joint.
The third youngest of three children to Rose and Fred McAleer, Ripley recalls playing with prisoners.
"They were just town drunks,'' she said.
"They would just do stupid things to get in there to have a meal and a bed...they were in and out, in and out. You just got to know them.''
The family moved from their jail-side home to a place near the Charlottetown Hotel on Kent Street.
Ripley remembers setting up Kool-Aid stands to cash in on all the rich tourists. She never dreamed of going to any of the far-away places home to the visitors.
"I guess I never had anything and I never wished I did,'' she said.
Ripley did end up traveling, however, but mostly around P.E.I. and across Canada thanks to marrying Gary Ripley, who was an airplane mechanic in the military.
The couple lived in Summerside, Nova Scotia and British Columbia, before returning to the base in Summerside.
Mary Ripley found work as a waitress in each locale, choosing to work in the evenings to maximize tips.
"I was always a fantastic waitress,'' she said with geniune assurance.
Ripley's son, Jason, is moving to London, Ont. with his wife and two young children.
Christopher, who was her first son and a computer engineer, died of a heart attack five years ago.
The loss of her 34-year-old boy was naturally crushing but Ripley finds great comfort in strongly feeling Christopher's presence in her home to this day.
Ripley separated in 1998 and has lived in her current home on Bayfield Street in Charlottetown for the past 11 years.
For Ripley, who enjoys the odd rum and coke with lemon, the house offered yet another brush with the boozy side of society that had included serving drinks for years and spending her early years next door to temporary, incarcerated drunks.
Turns out she had just moved into the home of a former bootlegger. During her first couple summers, people would knock at the door looking "to buy a dozen'', she said with a laugh.
As for continuing to serve up baked bread and other goodwill, Ripley remains open for business.
"There will be no slowing down.''
