En route to Houston, we stopped by Oak Alley Plantation, about one hour outside of New Orleans. If Bonaventure in Savannah is the Platonic ideal of a cemetery, Oak Alley is kind of the Platonic ideal of a plantation. I felt horribly guilty for swooning, but the place is just so damn romantic.
28 300-year-old oaks stand sentry on each side of a path leading up to the house, with a smaller number of baby oaks (150 years old) in the back. The house itself sports one of those deep wrap-around verandas.
After the tour, we parked ourselves under the oaks and had an impromptu picnic, finishing up the muffuletta we'd saved from NO.
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