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Paisley’s singing voice is clear and expressive, infused with a powerful, velvety undertone. Even though I’ve only heard a few notes, I know for a fact that I could spend hours listening to her.

She shifts around the tree to trim another side, and without thinking, I slink back into the next row like I’m some kind of secret agent spy, hoping not to be spotted on a stakeout. My breath catches in my chest.

Crap, what if she sees me?

I wait a moment, my heart pounding, but Paisley doesn’t stop singing. She finishes the last few bars of “Harvest Moon” and then moves on to a countrified version of “She Used to Be Mine.” Her sound is as incredible as it is nuanced. I can’t believe Barry hasn’t signed her as a singer-songwriter.

Paisley pauses and pulls away one side of her headphones. I hold my breath, worried that if I make any noise, I’ll give myself away. She tilts her head toward a slender gray bird perched at the top of the tree and whistles.

The bird whistles back and then takes flight.

I follow the bird’s lead. Not wanting to intrude on her personal space any longer, I head farther into the grove in search of inspiration.

I’m beginning to think it’s not location or scenery or communing with nature that will help me get this done. Even out here, with the blue skies above and the green grass beneath me, I haven’t written a lick of anything.

The problem is one hundred percent me. And I don’t know how to solve it.

A blue jay squawks like a hawk as it flies over and then disappears into the top of a pine tree. Mimicry must have been one of its adaptions for survival, and that gets me thinking about what I need to do to survive in this business.

Going solo after years with the band has been tough. Even though our music was evolving, we’d developed a signature sound that linked our stuff from the early country-rock days to the more recent Nashville country days. But now I wonder: Have I been trying so hard to distance my music from Six String Justice that I’ve forgotten what I sound like?

I stretch my legs out in front of me and readjust the guitar in my lap. When I play the opening chords of the first song I ever wrote, I’m back to being that naive kid again, full of big dreams and endless energy.

I don’t think, I just play. My left hand glides along the fretboard as my fingers find the chords while my other hand strums.

“This ain’t all it’s cracked up to be,

So take my hand and come with me,

We’ll go to where the mountains meet the sky.”

I haven’t played this song, let alone sang it, in almost four years, but I remember coming up with it like it was yesterday. Sitting upstairs on the double bed in my old room, pressing the pads of my fingers into the secondhand Epiphone’s strings until they ached. I’d been playing old country-rock standards but had decided to mess around for the fun of it. When I’d played that particular chord progression, something inside me clicked. I can’t explain it, but the song just made sense.

I’d come up with other songs after that, and then suddenly I was in a band and we were jamming in the shed. Those were the early days, when we were honing our skills playing old songs by Johnny Cash and John Fogerty and newer country stuff by Chris Stapleton and blues/roots by Larkin Poe. We tried straight-up country, Southern rock, and Americana and settled on being a country-rock band. Eventually, I shared some of the other songs I wrote with the guys. We worked on them together and they became ours. At least, until we shifted into the Nashville country sound and we started playing more of Justin’s stuff.

But this song? I’ve always kept this song just for me.

Could I revamp it for the demo?

The thought has me sitting up straighter. It’s tempting, especially since I haven’t got anything else. But it also feels like sharing this song would be like selling a piece of my soul. I’m not that desperate yet.

I keep playing, letting the chorus build, and sing the last few lines.

“You know we could be good together,

We’ll withstand the wildest weather,

Baby, don’t you turn and walk away.”

When I first signed with Exit 12S Records as a solo artist, I had something to prove. I wanted the guys to regret kicking me out of Six String Justice. I wanted my success to be my revenge. I was looking for a little six song justice.

The I’ll-show-them fire’s still there, but it doesn’t burn as hot as it used to. If only I could have channeled it into songs right away, back when it was fresh and raw and my wounds hadn’t started to scab over. Distance and time have dampened the hurt. Although self-doubt is rising all over again.

What if Justin was right? What if I wasn’t contributing anything to Six String Justice? What if I can’t do this?

In the back of my mind, I hear Granny’s twangy voice reminding me Can’t never could. It was one of her favorite sayings.

I can’t do it, Granny, I’d say.