It happens. You spend a weekend in the woods, listening to nothing but dancing trees, the hiss of a well-built fire (because all of our fires are well-built, right?), and, if you're up in the Boundary Waters, that heavenly swoosh of your canoe paddle brushing up against Lake Superior. Then, when the trip comes to a close, you're back in your apartment, drowning in the city's constant banging or the buzz of the neighbors mowing their lawn for the third time in two days.
Enter Dan Gibson.