The Mill is a lovely place just outside Lexington, VA where I was once a wide-eyed undergrad and it's been there since before Europeans set foot in Montana. In those undergrad days, we'd pile in my old white Jeep or my roommate's old black Jeep and drive around Rockbridge County exploring places like the Mill, the Rockbridge Vineyard, or Bustleburg, VA, which was not bustling at all. For this I loved it all the more, although I don't think the irony was intentional.
Maybe if every blog reader south of the Mason-Dixon and east of the Mississippi sent me a bag of stone-ground grits I'd never go without again. Email me at iheartmountainsblog [at] gmail dot com and I'll give you my mailing address. I'm serious. I might even send you elk jerky or something else quintessentially Western in return [I don't actually eat elk jerky, but it would survive the trip].