When we left California, we took five and a half days to drive across the country. The last leg, Nashville to Maryland, would have been a killer even if we'd gotten an early start, but I figured it was my best chance to see The Hermitage. And I was so impressed that I convinced Dan, who'd stayed with the dogs, that he should take the tour, too.
In the wilds of Virginia that evening, when we were good and punchy but not yet delirious, I noticed a sign that almost sent me into hysterics: Butt Hollow Road (see No. 26). (The actual Butt Hollow is allegedly in West Virginny, butt I've never been able to confirm it, so this remains a hollow supposition.)
Three months later, we bought a condo nestled at the eastern foot of a steep, wooded hill, where the light fades hours before sunset. Not long after we moved in, Dan looked around and said, "This place is kind of a ... Butt Hollow."
Link from Riley.
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