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And now on with the show. Oh, uh, uh.

Huh.

Huh.

Huh.

H.

H. H.

H.

H. Oh, No! The A man walked through his cornfield sometime before harvest in 1817.

The hot Tennessee sun and the thick southern air

weighed down on his already very tired shoulders. He didn't mind it too much though.

The slow trickle of constant sweat from his hair down into the collar of a shirt just meant he had worked hard that day, and that was good.

The evening walk through the field was a bit of a treat for him, in fact. Long summer days meant that by the time he was finally able to come out here,

Golden Hour was in full swing. The perfect light and the soft sounds of cornstalk leaves rubbing together from the breeze created a perfect setting to sort of decompress after all the day's labor.

This man, John Bell, had gained a reputation of diligence, integrity, and piety and the local community over the 12 years

or so that he and his family had lived on the banks of the Red River in Adams, Tennessee.

The Bell's farm prospered each year, allowing Bell to assume the status of

wealthy, a status in life heretofore unknown to him. The hospitality that Bell and

...