Deep in Black Oak County, Tennessee, there is a secret place where songwriters go to find success. I’m not supposed to know of this place, but I met a songwriter—let’s call him Johnny—who shared the secret with me at a conference.

You must travel far back into a low-lying valley surrounded by tree-covered Smoky Mountains and rocky cliffs. If you go deep, I’m talking soul-searching deep into that valley, you will find a path across the forest’s floor where decades of songwriter’s feet have beaten down the dirt.

You’ll know you’re getting close when you hear the mockingbirds’ call and the harmonica’s hum. At the end of this path lies the secrets to achieving all the success you’ve ever dreamed of.

Never one to venture far on his own, Johnny convinced a fellow songwriter, Josie, to accompany him. They drove into the Smokies, seeking the path to success. As the sun’s rays painted the morning sky orange, Johnny pulled his jeep onto the shoulder of the highway.

“Is this it?” Josie yawned and stretched in the passenger seat.

“It’s a mile up. Don’t want any lookie-loos following us.” He grabbed his phone and joined her on the passenger side of the road.

Not knowing what to expect, Johnny and Josie had taken precautions. They wore hiking boots, long pants, and long-sleeve shirts made of sturdy but breathable material.

Josie grabbed a backpack stuffed with her favorite fiddle, snacks, and water bottles from the trunk. She covered her blonde hair with a hat and her fair skin with sunscreen. She held the tube of sunscreen out.

“No thanks.” He chuckled. “I don’t burn.” He stuffed a few snacks and a water bottle into the side pocket of his pants. Wrapped a notebook of the songs he’d written in a ziplock bag and slipped it into his other side pocket.

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With a brand new guitar on his back, he led the way down the highway to mile marker seventy-seven. Here, the highway severed a mountain made of limestone in half. Over time, vegetation had taken root within the cracks and covered parts of the rock walls. With a quick look around, he motioned for Josie to hurry and they sprinted towards the hill.

“Are you sure this is the way?” Josie hadn’t completely warmed up to the idea that success lay at the end of a path.

Johnny pulled back vines and exposed a dark hole big enough to crawl through. “This way.”

“No way.” Josie shook her head. “Anything could be in there.”

“Success is in there.” He clicked his phone light on and climbed in, guitar and all.

Josie glanced over her shoulder and followed.

The tunnel went on longer than he’d expected, twisting and turning. He came to a place where part of the tunnel had filled in with dirt.

“What’s the matter?” Josie’s voice shook.

His heart drummed against the wall of his chest, but he wanted, no needed, to write songs that touched people’s hearts. He pushed some dirt forward and pulled some beneath his body until his shoulders could fit through. “It’s nothing.”

They continued. The walls around him lighted and showed cracks that, if he had been aware of, he might have backed out. “I see the end.”

“Thank God.”

He chuckled in agreement and slithered out of the hole, lost hold of his phone and fell onto the rocks a few feet below. His shoulder took the brunt of the fall, but his phone hit hard enough to pop the case off.

He dusted himself off and helped Josie out. Tan dirt covered her from head to toe.

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She giggled. “You’re a mess.”

“Not looking too clean yourself.” He grabbed his phone. The screen was black and cracked. He pressed the side buttons, but nothing. “Great. Looks like I’ll need a new phone.”

“Don’t worry. I have mine.” She looked up at him. Even her lashes were covered with dust. “Is this what success looks like?”

“Hold still. Close your eyes.” He brushed her face and eyes with his fingertips. He could write a whole album about how beautiful she looked covered in dirt. “There. Maybe not success, but prettier than a frog in mud.”

“A frog? In mud?” She blushed and dusted off her clothes. “If that’s an example of your lyrics, we’d better find success fast. Which way?”

Embarrassment washed over him and he wanted to crawl back into the hole and die a thousand deaths.

“Nothing sexier than a frog to a country boy.” He nodded towards the only path through the trees and allowed her to go first. He followed, but the sight of her, with her baseball cap tilted and her long ponytail askew, belittled his words.

They came to a place where the path forked. One path led into rocky terrain thick with Black Oak trees growing so close together that you could barely slither your body through. The other path was lined with a soft, mossy forest floor shaded by Sugar and Red maple trees.

Josie gasped and pointed.

In the middle of the fork, strapped by dark vines to a Black Oak whose branches must’ve reached the clouds, was a man. His head lulled to the side. His Confederate gray uniform had faded to shades of white. The Corporal stripes had peeled off his right arm, leaving a ghostly gray outline. Dirty and blood-dried bandages had been wrapped around his face and covered

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his features except for his right eye. The backs of his hands were gnarly and weathered like the Oak’s bark, and in his hand, he clutched a harmonica.

A chill traveled through Johnny’s lungs and froze the air in his lungs. “C-corporal,”  his voice squeaked to a high G. “Which way to success?”

The man raised his head and stared at Johnny with one brown eye. He pointed towards the rocky path squeezed into a narrow gap by the mighty Black Oaks. “That way.”

Johnny nodded. He grabbed Josie’s hand, keeping his body between her and the soldier, and shuffled towards the break between the trees. Josie’s slender body could slip through. Holding his guitar by the neck, Johnny squeezed through the set of Black Oaks. Not uttering a word, they wove their way through the trees until the path widened. Before them, yard after yard of blackberry bushes lined the path through the forest.

“He couldn’t have been real.” Josie turned and grabbed fists full of his jacket. “You saw him, right?”

“Smelled him, too.”

“Yeah. That was the craziest thing.” Her hands shook against his chest. “I’m not going back there.”

He covered one of her fists with his hand. Their breaths mingled. “Nope, I’m not planning to either.”

  Her soft lips parted into a bright smile. Her smile did crazy things to his heart, making it buck and twist and spin like a rodeo bull.

She held up a crooked pinky, “Pinky swear?”

Even though his older brothers couldn’t see him, he hesitated. Her smile faded, and he could feel her moving away. He grabbed her pinky with his and hung on. “Pinky swear.”

She let out a relieved breath and turned towards the path.

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He swung his guitar over his shoulder and waited for his heart to steady.

Clusters of pink and white flowers remained in patches over the blackberry bushes but most of them had faded into berries in shades of red and deep, dark black. He pulled plump berries from their stems. Offered a handful up to Josie and popped some into his mouth.

In a comfortable silence, they munched on berries and walked down the path. The sun hadn’t quite topped the trees but cast a golden glow over Josie’s head and shoulders.

The bushes on his right shook.

They stopped and stared.

The bushes shook, and a deep growl reached their ears. Johnny pressed a finger to his lips. They tracked the movement by the shake of the bushes. Closer and closer. Close enough that Johnny could distinguish the black, hairy hump of a bear’s back.

“Bear,” screamed Josie, ear piercing loud.

Unable to move, Johnny watched the shaking bushes race towards him, the growls intensifying. A black bear rose up on his hind legs. The ferocity of the bear’s five-hundred-pound body put Johnny’s one-eighty-muscled frame to shame.

“Run,” Josie grabbed his arm and tugged. “Run.”

He was rooted to the spot. But, the bear wasn’t. The beast roared, showing all his fangs and clawed paws.

Josie’s backpack flew through the air and smacked the bear dead center of his snout. The beast growled and dropped to all fours.

She grabbed Johnny’s hand and pulled. Together, they sprinted through the blackberry bushes. The thorns ripped holes in their pants. The bear gained speed through the bushes and closed the distance.

They zigzagged. Josie fell hard on her knees. Johnny scooped her up, they ran for the split

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in the trees, their breathing labored, blood pounding in their ears. She slipped through the opening. He’d forgotten about his guitar and that he couldn’t fit through with it on his back. Half his body in the gap, Johnny struggled to pull the guitar’s strap over his head and break free.

The rancid smell of the bear’s breath filled Johnny’s nostrils. Time slowed, and he turned his head. A thick paw swiped through the air, ripped his guitar off his back, and struck a broken chord of discord.

Johnny slipped through the Black Oaks’ branches and didn’t look back. He followed Josie. She didn’t stop. She ran past the fork in the path and all the way back to the hole in the limestone mountain.

Bent over, their hands on their knees, they panted. He looked back at the path, but they’d lost the bear. “Maybe he ate the soldier.”

“I doubt it,” she straightened and took deep breaths. Scratches marred the smooth skin on her cheeks and chin. Her pants were ripped in three places. “Nothing but moths and insects could stomach that old man.”

“He did smell like mold and mothballs.” Johnny laughed, not a ha-ha laugh but a we-all-most-died-but-lived-to-talk-about-it laugh that shook his body.

She joined. Her laughter stalled in her throat. She locked eyes with him. Her blue eyes were steady and firm, his relieved and ready to tackle life. “I’m not going back.”

“What?” His gaze swiveled from the hole to the path, to Josie. He couldn’t blame her, but something in his gut urged him to try again. “Are you sure?”

“Surer than a frog in mud.”

“That’s pretty sure.” He nodded and gave her the keys to the jeep. Except for his songbook, he emptied his side pockets. Every crumb of food and drop of water, he gave to her.

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“Come with me.” She held out her hand.

“I can’t.” His heart slid into his stomach. “If I’m not out by nightfall, call the state police or animal control or Ghostbusters.”

She pocketed the supplies. Clicked the light on her phone, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. One of those earth-shattering, going-off-to-war kisses that rocked him back on his heels.

She handed him a water bottle, slipped away, and went through the hole.

All the way back to the fork, Johnny told himself how stupid he was not to follow Josie. He glared at the soldier.

“Where is your friend?” The mocking twang told Johnny that the soldier already knew.

Johnny refused to answer. “Corporal, which way to success?”

Again, he pointed towards the narrow gap between the Black Oaks. “That way.”

“There’s a bear that way.”

The soldier’s cracked lips twisted. “Past the bear.”

“Yep. Of course, it is.” Johnny slipped between the Black Oaks and could’ve sworn he heard the soldier say, “The road to success is a solitary path.”

“Solitary path,” Johnny muttered. At the edge of the trees, he listened for the bear. Keeping low, he stepped over his crushed guitar and made his way down the path. He found a couple of granola bars lying half-eaten on the ground, and at a break in the bushes, he saw the broken strap of Josie’s backpack.

Guttural throat noises and munching sounds came from deep in the blackberry bushes.

Johnny kept low and quiet until he reached the other side of the forest. The path meandered up a ravine and stopped at the rocky face of the mountain. He tipped his head

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back and looked up at thirty feet of sheer rock.

The sun was high in the sky. Water poured over the outcropping of rocks, making them slick and slimy. Over time, the water had created crevices in the rock. A few vines had found homes in the crevices. “This can’t be right,” Johnny assured himself. “It’s too dangerous.”

He could hear the mockingbirds. “I’m so close, but this can’t be right.”

He turned around, snuck past the bear, and confronted the Corporal.

“Corporal, pull the moth cocoons out of your ears and listen to me. The path stops at a rock face that no one could climb.” Frustration crawled up his spine. “Which way to success?”

The soldier grunted. “You have to take what life gives you.” Again, he pointed towards the narrow gap between the Black Oaks. “That way.”

“Past the bear and the rock face?” A part of Johnny wished he was in the jeep with Josie.

“Yup.”

Shoulders bent, Johnny retraced his steps. When he could hear the bear, he took a granola bar from the trail and tossed it into the bushes. He sprinted towards the trees, chin up, arms pumping Forrest Gump style.

Out of breath from running, he reached the ravine. Followed the path to the rock face, searched for a way around, and discovered that the only way to continue was straight up.

With fingertip holds, he made his way up the rock. Cold mountain water poured over his head, soaking him from the top down. First, his teeth chattered. Then, his arms shook. Using any available gap or ledge, he moved up the wall. The toe of his boot slipped and he skidded down the rock, scrambling for a hold. His right hand grabbed a vine and he hung by one arm, twisting against the rock.

The vine slipped.

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He looked up.

Inch by inch, the roots ripped away from the rock. He reached out with his other hand for an outcropping of rocks to grab. Found one. His feet slipped and slid against the wall until one toe, then the other, found purchase. Hand over hand, he climbed the mountain. At the top, he grabbed the roots of a tree and pulled himself over.

Arms and legs heavy from the exertion, he lay on his back and stared up at the clouds until his breathing leveled. The sun’s rays heated his skin. The mockingbirds sang a sweet song. Muscles he’d forgotten about ached.

He rose and followed the water over the flat-topped mountain to a spring in the rocks. He washed his scraped and bloody hands and set off again.

The path snaked down the mountain. Thickening with trees the further he descended. He burst through the trees and stopped. He teetered on the edge of a huge, gaping sinkhole full of green, frothy water.

Tree roots hung from concave dirt walls. The chorus of frogs, nose deep in the guck, reached his ears.

He shuffled left, the ledge crumbled. He moved back and clumps of dirt and grasses fell into the mucky water. “I must’ve missed a turn in the path. This can’t be right.”

He back-tracked and searched for a branch off the path. When he returned to the face’s edge, he noticed that the vines were thicker and twisted on one side. He used the vines and handholds in the rock to work his way down. Still, he hadn’t discovered the missing branch off the path that led to success. Before he realized it, he stood before the Corporal.

Johnny’s legs gave out, and he collapsed on the ground. The skin on his face felt tight and if the scarlet sunburn on the back of his hands was any indication, his face must be fried crispier than his Grandmother’s Sunday chicken.

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“When all seems lost, get up and try again,” the soldier suggested.

“You sound like a fortune cookie.” Johnny sat and rubbed his hands over his head. “Tell me, what did you do to be stuck here forever?”

“I stopped trying. Before I knew it, the Great Oak had become a part of me and me a part of him.”

Adrenaline shot through Johnny’s veins, and he surged to his feet. A huge part of him no longer wanted to hear the answer to his question.

They stood feet apart. Over a century apart in birth but still two men alone in the woods facing their own fears and their own thoughts.

“Do you have a question to ask me?”

Johnny licked his cracked lips. “Corporal, which way to success?” His voice was void of energy, void of faith, void of hope.

Again, the soldier pointed towards the narrow gap between the Black Oaks. “That way.”

Johnny hung his head and slipped through the trees. He didn’t look or listen for the bear. He didn’t care.

He slipped on the way up the rock wall, smacked his forehead, and blood dripped down his face. At the top, he wiped the blood away, but it dripped into his eye, blinding him. Only able to see out of one eye, he carefully picked his way down the mountain. Cleared the trees and stood on the edge of the water-filled sinkhole.

He attempted to move right, but the bank gave way. He must climb down and go through the slimy green water.

Using tree roots, he picked his way down the side of the hole. A spotted salamander came out of a crack in the dirt wall and scurried across the back of his hand. Surprised, he lost his hold and fell the last fifteen feet. He landed flat on his back on the water and sunk.

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Air expelled from his lungs as if he’d hit concrete instead of water. Desperate for oxygen, his lungs burned in his chest. He clawed his way to the surface. The muddy bottom and long grasses sucked him down. Panic bubbling under his skin, he kicked against the grass that tangled his legs. Pushed through leaves and branches and broke the surface.

Gasping and sucking in air, he stared one-eyed into the eyes of a snapping turtle. He jerked his head to the side before the turtle took a bite out of his nose. With his head above water, he swam to the other edge of the sinkhole. Worked his way up the side by holding onto roots.

A jumble of roots gave way. He fell, hit the water and fought his way to the surface. He kept thinking about Josie. Why did he leave Josie? What kind of a fool would leave a girl like Josie?

The frogs’ songs mocked his efforts. Slower this time, he picked his way up and over the side. Soaking wet, covered in muddy water and green algae, he lay on the ground and stared up at the sky. The sun had started to sink behind the treetops. His body ached from the top of his scalp to the tip of his toes.

He rolled over and felt his songbook against his leg and a water bottle against his other. He took the notebook out of his side pocket. Muddy water had found a way into the ziplock bag. His throat felt thick. He removed the notebook and brown water dripped from the edges. Some of the pages had stuck together, and the writing on the pages that parted was smeared and unreadable.

He pounded his fist against his thigh. He was a fool.

He got up and followed the path down the mountain, across a river, over a small grassy hill, and back into a forest. The trees opened up to a forest floor covered with moss. In the distance, the hum of a harmonica and the song of mockingbirds called to him. Blood

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continued to drip down his face, blocking his vision. The further he went, the more familiar the path felt. Setting sunbeams made the leaves of the Sugar and Red maple trees glow.

Johnny came to a fork in the path and the soulful song of the harmonica stopped.

Once again, he stood before the soldier. Johnny had traveled full circle back to where he started. He’d lost his guitar. He’d lost his music. He’d left Josie for nothing.

The two men stared at each other. Two men had searched for success. One who’d given up hope and lost everything, even his freedom. One who’d struggled and overcome, only to find himself back at the beginning of his journey.

Anger exploded through Johnny, he opened his mouth to yell at the soldier but the words couldn’t escape his dry throat. He broke the seal on his water bottle.

The Corporal licked his cracked lips.

“How long have you stood there, strapped to the oak, needing to quench your thirst but unable?”

The soldier didn’t reply.

“Years? Decades? A century or more?” Johnny couldn’t deny him any longer and handed him the water bottle.

“Thank you.” The Corporal downed the water in one long gulp.

Johnny swallowed hard and tried again to speak. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

The soldier handed the water bottle back. “Why didn’t you know that success begins and ends with you?”

Johnny nodded and turned to leave. Every muscle in his body ached and he wanted nothing more than to crawl back through the limestone tunnel and get back to Josie.

“Wait.”

“What now?” Exhaustion and defeat weighed down Johnny’s words.

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The Corporal held out his hand and in his palm was a harmonica. “In over a hundred years, you’re the only person who gave freely instead of taking. You are already a great man. Giving freely to others is the foundation of true success, loving freely is the path, and success lies in your heart.”

Johnny returned to Josie. That year, they married. They went on to raise four children and twelve grandchildren. He did reach stardom. His greatest hits were accompanied by the haunting hum of a harmonica. He wrote songs about struggles and lost love, golden rings and golden hair, blue sky and blue eyes, black bears and blackberry bushes.

But his most potent song was about a lost soldier and the path home.

~ The End ~

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