Meeting farmers and a Crooked Garden
It’s a strange thing—coming back home after being out in the world. The roads are the same, but I swear some of the turns feel different. I’ve been walking the familiar hills of my hometown with city dust still on my boots, trying to find my footing. There’s comfort in the air here, sure, but there’s also a quiet shift… like the mountains are watching to see who I’ve become.
I run into folks I went to school with at the gas station or the post office, and a few have stopped by just to say hey. That kind of gesture hits deep. It’s tender. Unexpected in the best way. Makes me believe maybe this crooked little dream we’ve been chasing is exactly where we’re meant to be.
🫐 Blackberry Memories & Inspiration
Lately, my mind keeps drifting back to blackberry picking with my family. Long, slow afternoons with scratched-up arms and mouths stained purple. Those memories have been showing up in everything—from the Flight of Appalachia dishes to the colors I’ve been using for our walls. There’s something sacred in those berry-picking days… wild and sweet and a little thorny. That’s the heart of this place.
🎶 A Stage Set for Stories
Our front-of-house stage is built—and let me tell you, it looks like it’s been here forever, just waiting on the music. I can already see Ralph Stanley II standing up there, fiddle tucked under his chin, singing songs that make the whole building feel older and wiser.
We’ve been working like dogs on the sound—tuning it just right so every foot tap, every harmony, every story told in song, rings clear and true. Because when you sit and listen here, we want you to feel it.
🌱 The Crooked Garden (Yes, It’s Really Crooked)
Eric, bless him, went out back and built us a garden—just a little patch to grow herbs and vegetables for some of the dishes on our menu. But wouldn’t you know, the thing is crooked. Leans like it had too much moonshine. We laughed until we cried, and now it’s officially called The Crooked Garden.
It’s imperfect, honest, and trying real hard. Just like us.
🐐 Backyard Babies & Mountain Miracles
Out back, we’ve been watching Flower—one of our goats—and she’s had babies. The other day, those little ones were kicking and leaping in circles, full of joy and mischief like they knew something we didn’t. I reckon they do.
Sometimes it’s the tiniest things—goat babies hopping like dancers, the way the light falls on a crooked fence, the sound of wind through porch boards—that remind you you’re alive and doing something that matters.
⏳ We’re So Close
We’re pouring every ounce of heart and hustle into this space. There are days it feels like we’ve got months of work left and only a week to do it. But we’re holding fast to the dream of what this can be: a place for the community to gather, to listen, to eat, and to remember what matters.
The Wayfarer is comin’. Slowly. Wildly. Like spring pushing up through the cold ground.
We can’t wait to open the doors and let y’all in.
With love and muddy boots,
