Haag’s Hotel

Halfway to Virginia, we pass through Shartlesville, home of the Haag’s Hotel. We stuff straw wrappers in the fish pond’s stone wall, and then hunt for the ones planted there last time. Mommy conducts a handwashing contest in the bathroom, crowning the pair of hands which produces the filthiest water the winner. At the table, an overwhelmingly white platter awaits us, comprised of open-faced turkey sandwich over potato filling. Though the potato filling burns my throat for the remainder of the trip, I order it each time anyway, out of respect for tradition. Afterall, I’m not one to break tradition.