You might recognize the boy in front of the house. That's the Turkey. (Just in case you didn't recognize him after all.) The small french chalet *cough* behind him is most often referred to as Biltmore.
That's right, peeps. Vacation day #2 was spent exploring the house and the grounds of this
The kitty cats on either side of the front door were purring stoic. Meow?
Here you can see the puddy-tats flanking the front door. There. Look closely. They are really small in the picture. Here they look a lot like our cat at home. But this doesn't look like our guard cat at home:
The Turkey couldn't even get both of us in the picture when I was petting him. Or her.
Past the cats we entered the house an stepped back to the turn of the 20th century. (ie, no air conditioning.) We spent two hours touring the house, poking in bedrooms, wandering down hallways, traipsing up and down the staircases, listening to the organ in the dining room, wondering what it was like to really live there, and just generally gawking. Seriously, it's super grand. Even my almost-17-year-old was entranced by the tour. If you haven't been there yet, go. Go now! Tidy up the kitchen, pack a bag, and get thee gone!
Or go after you see these to further whet your whistle:
The fields were lined with rows of sunflowers. They kept going as far as the eye could see. Lovely.
We spent two hours in the house, drove over to Antler Hill Village on the property, had lunch at Cedric's, toured the winery, walked through the gardens and conservatory, wondered why my gardener doesn't do stuff like that (probably because he lives in my imagination), took lots of pictures, drove back through the property, took more pictures, and turned towards
Since I'm starting to conclude this blog post it's time to let your fingers do some clicking and check out Biltmore. If you haven't visited the estate yet, pack yer bags and go. G'head. Make like a banana and split to Asheville! You won't regret it.
Pinky promise. ;-)
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