The Tumbling Shoals Valley is quite the paragon of peaceful rural beauty. As a working farm, though, we feel obligated to disturb that peace. Knee deep in a sea of green, the early sun still reflected in the morning humidity, a pristine picture with the mute button pressed. But the aggressive whine of weedeater destruction cuts through the peaceful image as we burn through the weeds that hide the potato hills. Or the ear plug inducing roar of the tractor pulling a tiller through the soil before it gets too hot to sit on that black seat. All this raucous farming stuff! All this, so we can eat.