Nestled up in the Hudson Valley, only an hour or so from the hubbub of New York City, is where you’ll find the small village that author Washington Irving once described as “one of the quietest places in the whole world”, where “the occasional whistle of a quail or tapping of a woodpecker is almost the only sound that ever breaks in upon the uniform tranquillity”. Sleepy Hollow, forever immortalized in Irving’s writing, is still a quaint little place to visit these days; whether or not Ichabod Crane would recognize it in its current state is another question.
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