Wow! That is how I can best describe my stay at Schrute Farms. I planned on visiting my brother and his wife in Williamsport. Unfortunately, the Little League World Series had priced me out of the accommodations during my vacation time so I opted to come and visit during October. This was my first visit to his home and I was using one of those new GPS units in my rental from NYC. Those things are great, they can play mp3, do all sorts of stuff. I took a break from the 3 hour drive and pulled over to listen to some songs I downloaded from the internet. I lost track of time and I ended up running out gas as I sat there idling my Hummer. I probably could have rented a smaller car since I was traveling alone, but my brother is always so smug with his "Oh, we live in PA now," that I just had to show him up. Well, anyways, unfortunately I didn't realize that you have to plug the GPS in for it to charge. So now I'm stuck with no gas, and no way to figure out how to get anywhere or find anything. I could have called my brother who was an hour away, but I know he would have just rubbed it in my face. So I started walking and what do I find? Only the best B&B in the 1.5 miles from my car, Schrute Farms!
Now I have to admit, the owner was a bit standoff-ish when I first met him. I mean, like literally, he was standing way off in a field messing with something in the dirt. Kind of weird, he should have been at the reception counter. I must have knocked on the door like 15 times before this guard cat came out from behind the house and started hissing at me. My sister once got clawed by a tabby so I knew not to mess with the thing. I backed away slowly and fell off the porch into a big mud puddle that stank of urine. It was the most disgusting thing that could have happened. After that the cat seemed pretty disinterested in me and left. I went around back to rinse off with the garden hose, but I couldn't really get rid of the smell.

From what I saw of the property, it reminded me of my childhood growing up around farmers in rural Kentucky. That deep home charm was already sinking it's way into my heart. Around about that time, the owner came back in from the field to see what was all the 'hullabaloo' going on up at the house. I tried to shake his hand, but he just refused. I asked about staying the night and he asked me how I planned on paying for my stay. Unfortunately, I'd left my wallet in the coin tray back in the hummer. When I told him, he replied sarcastically "Yeah, right," and called me a derelict. He then said, "I normally let people work for their stay, but that privilege is only given to people who I can trust would put in an honest day's work. I can tell that you (me) sir, are obviously not that type of person." I probably could have just walked the 1.5 miles back to my car to get it, but I just wasn't in the mood to make the effort now that I was there. But that is ok, because the owner, Dwight, knew just how to cheer me up.

He starts playing tag, chasing me around the yard and barn yelling "I'm gonna get you." I was always just out of his reach though. Finally he got tired and walked away muttering something about sheriff's deputies(?) and 'this beet farm's got standards'. I plopped down under one of the trees that ran along the properties boundary to rest from all that running. I must have been more tired than I thought because I fell asleep for atleast an hour or two. When I woke up, it was dark out, I mean really dark. I couldn't have found the highway if it was two feet in front of me. They really need to put some streetlights on that thing. The only light I saw was coming from the B&B. I tried to get in but the door was locked. The owner and another male were inside, but neither would come open the door and just kept screaming, "Beat it, or we'll shoot. These paintballs can really sting if you don't have protective clothing." That guy and his humor. So I decided to play along. I went around back and sat down in a rickety rocking chair I had seen earlier when I was washing off.

Now, one thing about me and rockers, they really put me in the zone. Actually, I mean they zone me out. I must have sat there rocking for like 2 hours straight singing "If it makes you happy" by Sheryl Crow, maybe longer. Then I fell asleep again. When I woke up it must have been like 3am and it was cold outside. Really cold. My core body temperature must have been like 60 degrees or something. Luckily there was some loose wooden siding on the house, plus the skis part of the rocking chair (no more rocking) that I could use to make a fire. I don't smoke, but I always carry a lighter 'just in case,' and it really came in handy then. Boy, did that dry wood really light up. Smoke was everywhere. I drank some juice from a jug labeled 'Beet' that I found near the back door. The jug was a bit unwieldy and I spilled alot of it down my face and shirt. I must have been a real site, covered in mud & soot, beard dripping beet juice like blood and smelling of urine. The owner came running out and was like, "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. Please don't burn down my house." I started laughing maniacally, cause he said it so funny. He told me he has always appreciated my majestic people(?) and the way we handle adversity so gracefully. He then offered to help me anyway possible. I asked for some gas and plastic bags, which he asked me if I planned on using it to burn down his house and then bury him and his cousin in them. I told him the gas was for my car, and the bags were for the seats so I wouldn't get them dirty. He gave me what I needed and sent me on my way.
I hope that my review helps you in making your plans to visit Schrute Farms. It was well worth staying. I feel like I gained a new brother out there in the middle of PA. I hope he doesn't start rubbing it in like my other one.