Fifty-seven American painters, gifted to the city a century ago, and out of the Parthenon for the first time in nearly forty years. It goes back behind the columns on Sunday. Four days left on a forty-year window.

Forty-plus breweries pouring in one park for the twenty-fifth year, with a mechanical bull and food trucks between tastings. VIP gets in at four, general at five, and the whole thing benefits Nashville Humane. When the taps close, that's the year.

Ten days of livestock, refurbished rides and fried everything, and Saturday is the end of it. Funnel cake has a season and the season ends this weekend.

Learn to grow oyster mushrooms, build a grow kit to take home, then walk the sanctuary identifying what is already out there. Forty dollars covers two people and the kit. Pre-registration only, and it is Saturday.

Eleventh year of an independent film festival held in a bowling alley, which is the most East Nashville sentence in this issue. Two days, unlimited screenings on the weekend pass, then it's gone for a year.

GRAMMY-winning hitmaker Chris DeStefano and The Warren Brothers trade the stories behind the hits, with the Music City Symphony behind them and a tribute to Brett James in the middle of it. Lawn seating, food trucks, two nights, done. Pair it with the Cowan paintings and make one trip.

Two nights at the Mother Church for the band that makes a room go quiet on purpose. Adrianne Lenker's voice in that hall is the argument for the Ryman existing. Two dates, no third.

The lineup is the secret. Chromatic brings unnamed special guests to a small Berry Hill room and you find out who when you walk in. A format that only works once, which is why it only happens once.

Chef de Cuisine Liam Byres runs a two-hour lunch built entirely around cast iron - seasoning it, cooking in it, eating out of it - to mark The Joseph's sixth, the iron anniversary. One seating, inside a kitchen that does not usually let you watch.

A hundred and sixty treetop platforms and thirty-one zip lines, lit up after dark, with the under-eighteens sent home. Five hours of having the forest to yourselves, for forty-three dollars.

A chef-driven trip through Morocco and Brazil for one night, with live music and a live auction, and every dollar going to hospitality workers in crisis. The city's cooks feeding the city's cooks.

Three days of vendors and live sets at the Fairgrounds - the kind of graze where you eat standing up and stay for the band anyway. The listing already reads almost full, which is the part that should move you.

The Fairlane turned its rooftop into the Italian coast for the season - fourteen-dollar Aperol spritzes, a six-pour spritz tower, the whole Capri bit above Union Street. It runs to Labor Day and not one day past it.

Five courses, each poured against a Duckhorn Vineyards wine, at one of the better steakhouses in town. One seating, one night, and the sort of Tuesday that quietly fills up before anyone announces it did.

Deep Tropics takes over The Pinnacle for three days of global electronic - house, techno, bass - across two immersive stages, floor to roof. One weekend a year, and this year it has a name.

The three SNL writers behind "Three Sad Virgins" take the sketch off the screen and into the Polk for one night. The bit does not survive being watched later on a phone, which is the entire argument for going.

Leonard Slatkin conducts, Gary Sinise narrates, and 4K footage from all fifty states runs behind the orchestra - plus Copland's Fanfare and Stars and Stripes to close out Labor Day weekend. Free, outdoors, bring a blanket.

Seventy-five contemporary craft and fine artists take over the park across from the Hall of Fame for three days, free, with site-specific installations, live music and food. Worth planning around.