We love staying at country inn-style B&BS and have made it a quest over the years to find especially nice places. Good mattress. Down quilt. Two-person hot tub. Fireplace. Happy Hour. Lavish breakfast. Scenic setting. Peace and quiet. That’s what we look for. Fortunately there are numerous places that offer these amenities and some are even affordable. But the way we look at it, we aren’t putting kids through college, so we treat ourselves now and again.
On Saturday we stayed at an inn tucked away along a back road in southern Ohio Amish Country. It has a charming 1800s farm house where dinner and breakfast are served, and Amish-built log cabins nestled into a forested portion of the innkeepers’ considerable rural acreage. It was a gorgeous day and we had taken our time driving country roads and enjoying the fall color. Once we checked in, we went for a woodland walk and returned to sit on our porch for a snack of cheese from the Amish farm next door and a glass of the wine we brought from home. Ken went for a nap, and I stayed on the little porch, sitting in an Adirondack chair to read, to watch the sunlight on yellow leaves, and let my mind drift.
As I always do when we stay in these places, I begin to imagine how nice it would be to do this every weekend. How relaxing! How restorative! I’ll fantasize about a cabin of our own. Soon, I’ll be designing a cottage in my head – just like this one! Except, with a kitchen. And a satellite dish. And a guest room with ensuite. And a better view. Waterfront, I think. Oh, well. It’s kind of an impossible dream, but lovely to think about. Who can afford waterfront these days anyway?
After dinner, we joined a group of guests who were sitting around a fire pit that had a wonderful blaze going. Being in such a remote location, we could see stars again and listen to crickets chirp and owls hoot. We sat there contemplating the vastness of the universe warmed by the primeval appeal of the fire. When we toddled off to bed, we were transformed individuals.
Until I tried to get to sleep. In the quiet and the inky darkness, the day’s magic dissolved into terrible thoughts. First, my mind wandered to imagining a bear sniffing out the banana bread we had packed in the picnic hamper (it isn’t likely there are bears there at all – but still...) She would tear the door off the cabin to find it and eat banana bread along with us as a side dish.
Next, my brain concocted a crazed group of hillbillies, buzzed-up on Mountain Dew caffeine mega-watts, rampaging around in a pick-up truck and causing no end of violence and mayhem. They would think that at least one of us was “purty.” I worried that I should have closed and locked the windows. What was that noise? Why is it so dag-nabbed dark in here? It was a miracle I got to sleep at all.
But, in the morning, all seemed well. Silly to have worried! Clear blue sky. Birds chirping. Leaves fluttering. Our breakfast was indeed lavish— and delicious. We thanked the innkeepers and went on our way to the next locale, stopping to hike into a State Park geological site that has the most amazing cave and rock formations.
Sunday night we stayed at a different inn deep in Ohio’s absolutely beautiful Hocking Hills area. We drove to what seemed like the end of nowhere —and it was past that. The appeal of this inn is its situation on a gorge — a gorgeous gorge—with walking trails practically right out the front door of our darling cottage. We had a screened-in porch where we could sit with our afternoon quaff of wine and right on cue, a family of deer walked by, stopping to flex their ears at us and gaze over to see if we were any danger to them. Idyllic.
After dinner we played Gin Rummy until bedtime. I fell asleep right away.
At 2:00 in the morning, a huge clap of thunder woke us both. I awoke with such a start that my heart pounded. Ken fell back to sleep, but I was so wide awake that I got up to sit in our tiny living room to read and hopefully calm down. Thunder and lightning continued. The wind picked up. The curtains fluttered inward at the open windows. I sat in a wingback chair with a single light shining on my book —a collection of short stories by my favorite Canadian author, Alice Munro. The story started out to tell about a woman in her seventies whose husband had died and she was living alone in her tiny farmhouse. One day a young man comes to her door claiming to be from a utility company. She lets him in, but he doesn’t leave right away. He claims he is diabetic and could she please fix him something to eat. He sits down at the kitchen table. But when he breaks the tea cup she passes him and threatens her with a shard of china, I stopped reading! Ack! I don’t like where this is going! I jumped back into bed and stared out into the darkness for hours. It was too quiet. My heart was still pounding so loud I swear an intruder would hear it. I fell asleep at some point. But I’m not sure what time — it had not been a restful night.
The morning dawned crisp and clear — not a cloud in the sky. Sunlight shining through yellow leaves. Deer strolling past our dear little cottage. A lavish breakfast waiting. All was well. Silly to have worried!
It was just a great weekend all in all. But there’s a good reason why we don’t own a cottage or a cabin. I couldn’t take the stress.
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