A couple of days ago I convinced my sister to go rambling with me to Harrodsburg Kentucky. I love the ride over there which takes you on a back road across the beautiful Kentucky river, past Shakertown, and on to the lovely old town itself. Along the way we stopped to admire the Queen Anne's Lace

A pretty patch on the side of the road

and stopped to look down this ravine, where if you look very closely at the middle of the picture you can see one of the many caves found in Kentucky.
A little further on after you cross the river, there is an old boarded up cave along the side of the road.

According to Mama, back in her "heyday" in the 1940s' there was a gambling joint with slot machines running out of the cave. Probably dated back to the 20's and the days of prohibition when bootleg whiskey was freely flowing. How come they had all the fun?
Oh wait. I digress.
Continuing on our journey, we passed some beautiful farmlands with all the latest in modern farm equipment.

Well now we all know I love my antiques, but I think I would rather have spent my hot summer afternoon in that cool cave than riding around on one of these.
So, you are reading through this post thinking "what has any of this got to do with George Clooney?" and if you'll hold your horses, I'm getting to that. George (hope he doesn't mind me calling him by his first name) was born right down the road from me here in Lexington. His dad, in fact, used to DJ sock hops at my elementary school.

One of the main attractions in Harrodsburg is the Beaumont Inn. I have been going there for its absolutely, unbelievable, and perfectly stupendous southern meals since a was a little bitty girl and George himself has been known to dine there. Unfortunately, our visits have never coincided, but I keep on the lookout whenever I'm there.
It is truly a fine example of southern hospitality at its best, and if you happen to be in Harrodsburg I would recommend that you also reserve a room for the night.

As you can see, this place is overflowing with fabulous antiques.
One of the reasons I moseyed on over to Harrodsburg was to check out the vintage book store. Unfortunately, although the sign said open, the door was locked. (Do you think he saw me coming?) My reputation does seem to precede me. Maybe next time.

Enjoy what's left of your weekend and let me know if you spot George.