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Vermont is a predominantly rural state. It wouldn’t surprise me if the cows outnumber the people, and that’s fine by me. In this rural landscape, you’ll see barns.

Lots and lots of barns.

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Red barns.

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Brown barns.

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Barns with cows outside.

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And barns with cows inside.

My husband was positively beside himself the whole time we were there. Every time we’d pass an old, slightly neglected looking barn he’d mumble about getting inside and poking around for old tools and treasure. Thankfully I managed to restrain him before he was arrested for trespassing, but the dreaming over what might be inside continued… until it reached its peak here.

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A round, and extremely well cared for barn.

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Attached to a large farm house which turned out to be a lovely inn, he was besotted.

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It was all I could do to keep him in the car.

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Admittedly it was a beautiful thing, but not the type of place that would take kindly to random strangers poking around unsupervised.

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Now that’s what I call the perfect mailbox.

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