From Nashville Storms to Tazewell Soil: A Wayfarer Week to Remember
Well, it’s been one of those weeks where the roads twist and turn but somehow carry you right where you’re meant to be.
We started out in Nashville, where the lights never sleep and the music’s always waiting to be born. Chris had an artist cut a few songs for RBR Entertainment—that session was like lightning in a bottle. There’s magic coming from that label, I can feel it deep in my bones.
After the studio shut down and the last note was sung, we climbed in the truck and drove straight through the storm, back to Tazewell. Rolled in around 3AM, tired but buzzing with purpose. No rest for dreamers though, because just a few hours later, our Atlanta team arrived. They’re part of the vision, and we wanted to make sure they had a space of their own here—a little upstairs apartment oasis, patched together with love, elbow grease, and a last-minute Walmart run.
My brother showed up like a knight with a toolbox, backsplash in hand, and he turned that kitchen corner into something real pretty. There’s no feeling like your own kin adding touches to your space. It’s a gift not everyone gets.
Chris hung our bar lights, and … we found our logo. Just wait till y’all see the vibe we’re about to bring to Tazewell. He’s old soul, wood grain with a whisper of rebellion. The kind of place where you hang your hat and stay a while.
But if I had to pick the most meaningful moment this week, it’d be when we sat down with our local farmers. We shared our hearts about Tazewell County Bounty—a living, breathing grocery store of local goods right here inside Wayfarer. Not just a Saturday market, but a place where Appalachian abundance is on the shelves every single day. I got a little choked up, not gonna lie. When I looked into those faces, I saw my Dad’s eyes—how proud he’d be of this place. I remembered when milk showed up on our porch, when Mom churned butter, and how we’d go to Jerry Hankins’ farm for eggs. Our basement? A treasure trove of canned goods—peaches, green beans, tomatoes, Jelly’s and Jams stacked high with care.
That’s the spirit behind the Bounty—not just nostalgia, but revival. Food, music, stories, and community—all under one roof. And when I mentioned Bluegrass Gospel Sundays after church, I swear those farmers lit up like sunrise over Clinch Mountain.
Today, we’re back at it—installing lights, working on sound, and fixing a leak in the roof because nothing worth doing comes without a little drip and drop. Ceilings are getting a fresh coat of paint, and so is the soul of this building.
Oh, and if you’re wondering, yes—the buttercups are still blooming out back. I saw deer and cows sharing the same field like some kind of Appalachian peace treaty. Funny thing though, I learned that buttercups, for all their beauty, are toxic to livestock. Life’s full of pretty things with thorns, isn’t it?
Until next time
