It was the summer days when mom was cleaning in the house and dad was mowing the lawn. All of the windows and doors were open, the screens letting George Strait and Kenny Chesney flow through and out to the cornfield in the backyard.
It was the bus rides to school in the morning, when everyone, from kindergarteners to seniors, would sing along to "Friends in Low Places." The bus driver always got a kick out of it, turning the radio as loud as it would go as the bus turned into the school.
It was the Merle Travis, Doc Watson, and Reba McEntire that shuffled through your grandparents' house. When you walked in, you were greeted by a sweet, cinnamon empowered dessert and "Fancy" playing in the kitchen and "The Crawdad Song" on grandpa's guitar on the front porch swing.
It was the first concert you went to: Martina McBride, your favorite growing up. You had size 13 cowboy boots on, a jean jacket, and your best bootcut jeans. You were so excited for "Concrete Angel" to be played live, because you wanted to say you belted that ballad with Martina McBride a mere few feet away.
It was the nights you stayed up late, practicing those chords to your favorite song. The callouses on your fingers never left after that night.
It was the Taylor Swift song, that song you practiced until 2 a.m. on a school night, that you sang to mom at the school talent show, the first time you played your guitar live, and people began to wonder why you never brought it out before.
It was the spontaneous jam sessions with everyone around a bonfire. Whether it was Tim McGraw on the radio, or a guitar in the back of someone's truck, there was always a way to get the crickets chirping and the bullfrogs croaking down in the crick.
It was when you drove for the first time on your own - Lynyrd Skynyrd only seemed appropriate and seemed to assert your freedom.
It was when "Springsteen" by Eric Church hit the charts, and you swooned over a nonexistent love and a Jeep you never owned. It made you feel something that you had never felt before. It really is funny how a melody sounds like a memory.
It was those memories that flooded back as you sat in your room alone at 3 a.m., and the only thing you could play was Luke Bryan's "Been There, Done That" and any Carrie Underwood, Taylor Swift, and Miranda Lambert breakup song you loved.
It's the karaoke nights in the garage with dad, when you both just wanted to sing "Austin" by Blake Shelton. You never hear it the same way ever since you sang it with him the first time.
It was the last dance with your date at homecoming, "I Don't Dance." Even though it was meant for a wedding, you still sang every word to each other.
It's more than just Toby Keith singing about Red Solo Cups, and it's more than just Miranda Lambert showing him what a little girl is made of. It's Loretta Lynn singing about being a Coal Miner's Daughter, it's the Dixie Chicks bringing everyone to tears with a song about a Travelin' Soldier, it's when He Stopped Lovin' Her Today, helping George Jones' legacy to always live on, or when Dolly begged Jolene not to take her man.
It's a lot more than what some think, you just have to dig a little deeper than what's on the radio - because to me, country music holds something for some of us that is indescribable in some moments.
