We found a diner for breakfast, called "Apple Valley". The place was deserted when we walked in, apart from the delightful waitress, who, in her typically American manner, was extremely solicitous. In fact she would be a front runner in the Most Solicitous waitress award, which I'm thinking of instituting.. As we were eating and having exhausted her "How is everything?" repertoire, including, "Are the tea and coffee all right?" mentioned that she would be cleaning the table next to us with Clorox wipes. "Please let me know if it bothers you". We were happy to see someone else walk in. She deserved more customers.
Then it was south by the Blue Ridge Mountains and the fabled and fought-over Shenandoah Valley, fields of black cows and the surreal sight of two of them nearly submerged in a pond, relishing a wallow in the bovine equivalent of a jacuzzi. There were pristine farms, many of them swanky equestrian places. From one neatly fenced field two dun (Americans call them buckskin) horses eyed us inquiringly. A village called Flint Hill looked so very English. A sign said "Horse and Hound". Maybe it was a pub or a restaurant. Probably not the magazine.
And here's yet another quaint place where we didn't have time to stop, just a second to take a quick photo at the crossroads.
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