The morning mist hovers in the valley. Huge hay stacks cast long shadows across the quiet meadows. You can almost see the garrison of gray-coated Confederates going in and out of their tents that once stretched along the banks of the Duck River running through the farm. Standing outside the Inn, filled with a breakfast worthy of a general and a cup of hot coffee, you have a panoramic view of wooded hills splashed with color and myriad shades of green, the silos, the fences, the Beefalo cattle moving from the rustic barn to the quiet fields that surround the Inn--it is a time, a moment you have dreamed about.Innkeepers ...