Talking Tennessee: Memories Of Tomorrow

From the moment the red Ford truck rolled across the Mississippi-Tennessee state line, I felt it - the connection.

I was coming off the high of New Orleans having spent three nights in The Big Easy. Wandering through the French Quarter was a feast for the senses. I soaked in the sights of quaint little bistros as the waft of baked goods hit my nostrils and my mouth watered. The sounds of soft jazz drifted in the air, caressing my ears as people laughed and chatted at outdoor cafes.

Bourbon Street delivered a more pungent experience as remnants of the partygoers from the night before littered the sidewalks. Brushing it off, we continued off the main beat to a lovely little restaurant recommended by a local. Beautiful food was washed down with a glass of white wine as a quartet expertly performed a medley of jazz standards in the corner of the small eatery.

It was just the tonic I needed after the first night in Louisiana, dinner in Baton Rouge with an old friend of my travelling companion which had been a complete disaster. The friend, a devout Christian, proved there wasn't an ounce of Christian love and kindness in her body. She was one of the most abrasive individuals I had ever met and after a non-stop diatribe of insults and criticism for the world at large, I had had enough.

I couldn't get to the hotel room fast enough!

Two days of wandering the streets of the centuries-old city allowed the discomfort from the first night to drain from my body as I marvelled at the architecture and pure joy emanating from the musicians.

Nashville, Tennessee

Still basking in the afterglow, I was excited to be back in the truck rolling down Route 45 toward our next destination: Nashville, Tennessee.

I have been a country music fan for decades and visiting Nashville was a bucket list item for me. With thoughts of the Grand Ole Opry, the Ryman Theatre, and the bars on Broadway two-steppin' through my head, I stared in wonder at the green hills, pastures, and white farm fences that flew by the windows.

"It's so beautiful, I never expected it to be so green," I mused staring longingly at the landscape.

Having begun our journey in Texas, I had been anticipating more of the same. The Southern US is hot and although we were travelling in the spring, the Lonestar state was still relatively brown. Tennessee's terrain was obviously different.

From the moment the red Ford truck rolled across the Mississippi-Tennessee state line, I felt it - the connection.

With country tunes playing on the radio as white lines stretched before us, I soaked up the feeling of connectedness.

Easing into Nashville, my little country soul exploded with happiness. I craned my neck as we drove through the streets and up Broadway, taking in the signs and storefronts. Although the main thoroughfare is little more than a ghost town in the day, I knew we would return the following evening in search of honky-tonks.

My companion was tired. She had done an incredible job of steering the massive truck down highways and byways for eight hours to deliver us safely into Music City.

I woke the next day feeling exhilarated, more than ready to discover as many country music treasures as I could. Staring up at the giant guitars flanking the entryway of the Grand Ole Opry House, I basked in the energy of the country music stars that had performed there.

It wasn't long before I found Dolly, or her likeness at least, depicted on a mural on the wall to the left of the massive building. My smile was broad as I posed for a picture with one of my idols. Not only is Dolly Parton a national treasure, but she is one of the loveliest human beings on the planet and someone I admire immensely.

A visit to the gift shop, a wander through the Vanderbilt University Campus, and a drive past the Tennessee Titans stadium filled out the remainder of the day.

The evening brought the chance to go honky-tonkin', but as we wandered down Broadway, I was disappointed to hear mostly rock and pop bellowing from the establishments.

"Where's all the country music?" I asked my friend.

"Your guess is as good as mine," she countered, equally unimpressed.

Just as we were about to call it a night, pure country music drifted in the air from an understated little dive bar tucked between two larger taverns at the end of the strip. It was here I found what I was looking for, a band headed by a female singer playing old and new country tunes. We grabbed a drink and as I sat grooving in my chair to the sounds emanating from the stage, two ladies pulled me onto the dance floor for a song or two.

I closed my eyes and moved to the music that had willed its way into my soul decades before. The pain of love lost, the high of love gained, and the twang of everything in between, it all spoke to me. At that moment, I was part of the town I never wanted to leave.

Alas, that was not to be. We were leaving in the morning.

With the truck loaded up and a coffee in hand, we stopped at the Bluebird Café on our way out of Nashville. The Bluebird is the city's most famous venue to showcase new songwriters' talent. It was closed and I knew that the waiting list to catch an evening show was about four months long but I just wanted to see the building, to stand in its presence. I cupped my hands to my eyes and peered into the darkened windows, delighted to see the familiar arrangement of tables made so famous in the series, Nashville.

As we headed out on the I-65 toward Kentucky, I silently lamented leaving the state and the connection I had felt there. I hoped time would not be cruel in bringing me back.

This was almost seven years ago and I have been unable to return since. I live in eternal hope that this will not be the case for much longer.

It has been stated many times that three cords and the truth is all you need for a good country music song. While there is a lot of credibility in that statement, a little piece of your soul makes all the difference.

Tennessee you have a little piece of my soul.

My desire to create more memories in Tennessee is strong, like a heartbeat, and God willing, I will.

Low lying clouds, birds singing all night long. I see the hills in my dream and hear the bells; hear the bells in my bones. Never thought I would give in, now you're underneath my skin.

Only Tennessee, only Tennessee, only Tennessee can save me now

-Only Tennessee by Clare Bowen

Please feel free to buy me a coffee if you like what you read.