Some roads you can see clear on a map, and some you only find when the wind shifts and two paths meet.

Chris came along with music stitched into his soul. He’s penned #1 Bluegrass hits that still roll through the valleys, and he built a studio down in Florida so fine it was once named one of the top twenty in the whole wide world. But more than the accolades, he’s a builder — of songs, of dreams, of places where stories can breathe.

I was raised in the shadow of the Tazewell mountains, where the fog hangs low and the ridges keep their secrets. Life carried me far — into a listening room up in Maryland, into ballrooms I dressed for memory, even into the halls of NOAA, where I learned to read numbers like they were weather patterns. All those miles taught me how to balance the wild and the measured, how to hold vision in one hand and steady ground in the other.

Our roads crossed in Nashville, that humming city of neon and fiddle strings. What started as work grew into something more — two dreamers finding that their rhythms marched in time.

And from that, Wayfarer was born.

It ain’t just a restaurant, and it ain’t just a music hall. It’s a hearth. A place for travelers and locals alike, where a fiddle tune meets the scent of cornbread, where a weary soul can sit down to a plate made with honest, local food and a story sung from the stage.

We’ve stumbled some — small towns watch close, and we felt it. But like these mountains, we stand back up, steady and unshaken.

Wayfarer is our dream made flesh: a gathering place where songs rise, neighbors meet, and every wanderer finds they belong.

— Donna & Chris