Chapter 1:
Halfway up Signal Mountain
Close to the Cumberland Trail on Signal Mountain, rhododendron and mountain laurel were blooming in the forest. Something about the Appalachian Mountains called to him. Life had shuffled an unexpected change of plans, and he needed a new beginning. Thirty-two years old, healthy and strong, it was not too late to start over. Daniel could communicate with birds by telepathy, and he knew the birds would tell him where to land. Crawling out of his tent that morning, he saw a cardinal – chattering red ball of fire – streak the early morning air and land on a catalpa tree nearby. The bird was just beyond his reach but close enough to see clearly. The cardinal kept singing, and that was the signal he had been waiting for.
A few days later, he rented a cabin partway up the mountain – a rustic split timber shelter formerly used by forest rangers and then expanded with screens and walls. The kitchen was in an enclosed porch on the side of the cabin, with an antique stove, a porcelain sink, shelves for dishes on the wall, and a built-in spice cabinet. Daniel stowed his sleeping bag and pillow in the loft. Yes, he would live here for a while, but his soul kept guiding him further up the mountain. Every time he hiked on the Cumberland Trail, he felt his cares and worries drop away. Higher up, the leaves were exotic, some of them shaped like handprints of mythical animals. He loved the way sunlight touched them in the morning, lighting the leaves as if from inside. Bluebirds, wrens, nuthatches, and finches built nests in trees close to the trail. Flitting across the trail as he hiked, so many species of exotic butterflies – Tawny Emperor, Painted Lady, Tiger Swallowtail, Great Spangled Fritillary. Hummingbirds darted and dove to wildflowers – whoosh of green slicing the air. The mountain air was cool in the early morning, hot and humid as the sun rose higher.
After a week of hiking in the mountains, he drove back to Memphis in his blue Chevy pickup to gather the things he loved from the life he had left behind. Everything else, he left on the sidewalk next to the Salvation Army, with three bags of groceries for the homeless community. The next morning, he packed his truck carefully for the drive to his new home, with a trailer hitched behind to carry the furniture. One of his neighbors helped him load the trailer. Before leaving, he walked through his empty house with a flood of memories, then locked the front door and drove away. East of Memphis, the road was flat for a while, then climbing to small hills, then winding through Appalachian mountain roads until he reached Chattanooga. As he was driving, he listened to Bela Fleck and Edgar Meyer and hummed along with them. Uncommon Ritual, the theme for the first part of his journey. Then Music for Two, recorded live in Nashville during a concert. A dream and a promise. Something about those low notes and their weave with the banjo thrilled him.
Back on Signal Mountain, Daniel unpacked his truck and filled his cabin with musical instruments. Two violins, a banjo, a viola, a cello and a bass fiddle in the living room. A box of recorders, two flutes, two clarinets, an oboe, a bassoon, two French horns, two trumpets, two trombones and a tuba in the closet. Lots of percussion, enough for a room full of small children. His furniture, gifts from his grandmother, all hand-crafted by woodworkers who lived in the mountains – a maple dresser, a mirror inside a carved frame, an oak kitchen table with four Shaker chairs, and a maple bed he hoped to share one day. Since he felt powerfully drawn to this place, he knew that love would be waiting somewhere. His grandmother told him that every human, like every bird and butterfly, has a soulmate. When he was a boy, she told him stories about fireflies lighting the way for fairies and children lost in the forest. While she was still on the earth, she made him a wedding quilt – a pattern of interconnected rings in turquoise, fuchsia and forest green, with patches of butterflies, leaves and flowers. A blessing and a promise. He put the quilt on his bed, even though he was still waiting.
The mountain schools needed a music teacher, so he was hired in September. Daniel had tremendous patience with children and asked them to listen carefully to the sounds when he showed them how to find the notes. He always had them sing and match his pitches before the instruments came out. As they progressed, many of his students joined the orchestra and the band and gave concerts twice a year. Students learning the violin and cello used the Suzuki books and learned classical technique, but on Fridays, he’d tell them to put the books away, and by ear, he taught them fiddle tunes. Their reward, when the tune was memorized, was to have their teacher take out his bass and play with them.
Sometimes he took them hiking up the mountain to hear how music sounds in the open air. He’d ask them to listen to the sounds of the birds and the wind, then fill the trails with harmony. Music in nature waves out to the leaves, flies with the birds, and swirls into the sky. The young musicians hiked behind their teacher, his dark hair woven with a bit of silver, muscles strong from hiking since he was a boy and canoeing in the rivers that snaked through Tennessee. Daniel was a large man, someone you could see lumbering up a mountain in the company of bears and loblolly pines.
Every Friday night, Daniel went to the Mountain Opry to listen to bluegrass and fiddle tunes. Sometimes he’d bring a banjo and sometimes a violin. On the last Friday of the month, a few of his students went with him. Backstage, you could hear musicians jamming in practice rooms, forming ensembles shortly before taking the stage. A new group came on stage every thirty minutes, with Mountain People flat-foot clogging in front of the band. In the audience, you could see toe-tapping grandparents sharing the music they loved with their wide-eyed grandchildren. Veteran pickers shared the stage with the next generation of young musicians learning traditional fiddle tunes by ear, along with recently composed tunes that gathered countermelodies with each new player joining in. Liquor and tobacco were prohibited, but harmony was everywhere.
After a night at the Opry, Daniel drove back to his cabin humming the new tunes he learned, scat singing and weaving harmonies. Music was his path through the mountains. Music was his joy. Music floated through his dreams.
