Pit stop #1: Berea, Kentucky

A gorgeous sitting room in the historic Boone Tavern. We played some rousing games of Uno in this room that was down the hall from our room.
Crazy children running down the halls of the historic Boone Tavern. Where are their parents? Someone should stop those little scamps. Ok, so I may have been the one that shouted--race you there, sucka--BUT it also may have been Aron. There's just no way to prove anything now is there? IS THERE?!?!

Literature from the fine historic Boone Tavern
The historic Boone Tavern has a porch that makes an ideal place to make a phone call to your beloved Stevie (Aron's Dad)


Awesome view of the historic Boone Tavern



Side porch of the historic Boone Tavern

Gorgeous view of the historic Boone Tavern

We stopped at this gloriously wonderful hotal in Berea, Kentucky called, yup, you guess it: The Historic Boone Tavern. The town itself is fairly small 14,000 people or so and is a hub of arts and crafts. They have a college there that churns out many talented artists each year who hand produce goods to sell in the many shops in town. Aron and I briefly stopped there a number of years ago and decided it would make a nice 1/2way stopping point to our Smoky Mountain adventure.

It seems strange to call Kentucky "Southern" but the hotel definitely has a Southern feel to it. There were multiple, large sitting rooms in the hotel along with a front porch that stretched on forever. Everyone was uber-friendly and all the employees bent over backward to make us feel comfortable. I felt so at home I decided to grow my own tobacco while we were there. It just felt right. Then Aron started to play banjo but when Luke wanted to marry his sister*, I knew the time had come to roll on out of town and go to the Smokys.

*Please don't be mad at me for my liberal use of horrible stereotypes of the people of Kentucky at the end of this post. My Dad's family is from West Virginia. You may now commence with the West Virginia in-breeding jokes. Everyone knows all the really great sterotypical in-breeding jokes are from West Virginia.