Have you ever heard of a “squarcle?” You know what a roundabout (or traffic circle, as its called in some parts of the US) is. A squarcle is a square roundabout. A squareabout. A traffic square. It’s a square around which traffic flows without stop signs. I learned about squarcles in Lovettsville, Virginia where, as far as I can tell from my internet research, exists the only one.
After we were done with Winchester, we drove to Lovettsville, Virginia, for a night at the George Mill Bed and Breakfast. Lovettsville is nowhere near Winchester but Patricia had won a night at the George in a charity auction, so we were there to cash in. The Potomac River is the border between northern Virginia and Maryland, and Lovettsville is just on the Virginia side of the river.
The land where the B&B stands was acquired, in the early 18th century, by a German immigrant named John George. It was John’s grandson Samuel who built the house, around 1774. The George family still owns the house and land, and runs the B&B.
During the Civil War, Union troops camped on the land. The house still looks like it’s expecting General Grant any second.
We’d driven from Maryland to Winchester, Virginia that morning, had a long day in Winchester, then driven to Lovettsville. So Patricia and I were ready for an evening of doing absolutely nothing — doing nothing, that is, with a glass of wine. We had planned to open one of the bottles we’d bought from Wicked Oak that morning and rock the evening away on the porch. But we didn’t have to open a bottle of Wicked Oak wine. The proprietress of the George supplied us with a couple of glasses of chardonnay. With them, we settled down on an upstairs porch, just off of our room, and watched the deer wander by.
The only other thing we did that evening was make a quick trip into the tiny town of Lovettsville, where we had dinner at a place called Andy’s. I don’t remember anything about it except that the meal was tasty.
The restaurant was just off the squarcle.
I was up early the next morning and went out to do a little exploring of the gardens. The grandchildren of the B&B proprietress run a goat farm next door and working on the farm, as goat herders, are two Great Pyrenees named George and Reba. During my wander, I was joined by one of them. I don’t know which one, but s/he was just adorable and followed me around as I explored the property.
I had to say a reluctant good-bye to George-or-Reba when I heard food calling my name. S/he went back to the goats and I went in to this. The strawberry preserves (made in-house) were the best I’d ever tasted and I would have been happy simply to eat spoonfuls of that.
After breakfast, we went further afield, across the street to a large fishing pond, then next door to check out a little shop that sells the goat farm’s products. It didn’t do much to work off the huge breakfast, but it was a nice ending to our Winchester sojourn.