Deep in the heart of the Tennessee countryside there is a little country road. Unassuming to look at, not even worth a glimpse as you pass by; it winds gently but briefly through a small, short valley dotted with simple wooden houses and elderly outbuildings.
Near the end of this road, standing atop a small grassy incline, is a barn. Nothing to mark it so very different from the others around it, slightly newer perhaps, but a modest red barn nonetheless.
And it is here, in the virtual silence of the countryside, with trees and fields and birds for company, that we find ourselves still and restful for the week.