Hogs Hollow
Before I start, I just want to mention the outstanding service we’ve received in Arkansas. We spend the night at the Best Western in Hope, AR, birthplace of Bill Clinton, and it was almost a shocking friendliness compared to the Woodfield Suites in San Antonio. Naturally, there was a Western Sizzlin across the parking lot, where we ate a great steak dinner and received our second shock. When paying, I forgot the discount that the concierge of the Best Western had mentioned earlier. I only remembered it, after the cashier had printed the receipt already. The manager had overheard my mumbling, stepped up to the register, pushed some buttons and gave me back the discount percentage in cash. How’s that for service? I am not asking the battle-hardened Europeans here, I am asking you, the spoiled Americans! I was blown away. Good job Hope, AR!
We got to Amy’s parents without a hitch, which means not driving past the path into the dark woods that leads to Hogs Hollow as usual. They picked this strange name for marketing purposes, I suppose, as they are planning to operate a hunting business at Coen Lodge. Sort of like a Bed & Breakfast, but with guns, camouflage and a side of deer for dinner. I am all for self-deprecating humor, but I had some worries about the connotations with pigs, until I was reminded of the saying: “Even a blind hog finds an acorn now and then.”
The lodge is making good progress and is habitable and, actually, comfortable. This blurry photo is the only one I have from our whole stay. Everybody is boarding the Pinzgauer for the obligatory tour of the grounds, lead by our local guide and groundskeeper Dan.
