The Train to Grinder’s Switch: When a Song Sends You Down a Rabbit Hole

Sometimes a journey begins with a plane ticket. Sometimes it begins with a map. And sometimes it begins with a line from a song that has been rattling around in your head for half a century.

I was a teenager when the Charlie Daniels Band released Fire on the Mountain.

I listened to that album back then, and one of the songs that stayed with me was “The South’s Gonna Do It Again.”

And right there at the beginning was a line I would hear countless times over the next five decades:

“Well, the train to Grinder’s Switch…”

I knew the line.

I knew the song.

I knew Charlie Daniels.

But here’s the funny part.

For all those years, I don’t remember ever stopping to ask one ridiculously simple question:

Where in the world is Grinder’s Switch?

Until now.

Maybe that’s one of the interesting things about getting older. Something you’ve known almost your entire life can suddenly become new again simply because you finally ask a different question.

So I asked.

Is Grinder’s Switch a real place?

That was all it took.

Down the rabbit hole I went.

And before long, a song I’d been listening to since I was a teenager had taken me to a nearly forgotten railroad siding in Tennessee, Minnie Pearl, the Grand Ole Opry, a Saturday-morning music tradition, Johnny Cash, a family-owned winery and eventually to a conversation with Linda that amounted to:

“We’re going to be in Tennessee next May. We need to go find this place.”

And just like that, something I’d been hearing for half a century became somewhere I wanted to go.

This is how journeys sometimes begin at Epic Explorations.

Not with a destination.

Not with an itinerary.

Sometimes they begin with something that’s been sitting quietly in the back of your mind for fifty years, waiting for you to finally get curious about it.

First Question: Is Grinder’s Switch Even Real?

It is.

Sort of.

Grinder’s Switch isn’t really a town. It is a place just outside Centerville, Tennessee, historically connected to a railroad siding and switch along the old Nashville, Chattanooga & St. Louis Railway.

That alone probably wouldn’t have put Grinder’s Switch into the American imagination.

But a young woman from Centerville would.

Her name was Sarah Ophelia Colley.

You probably know her better as Minnie Pearl.

Sarah’s father, Tom Colley, was involved in the lumber business and hauled railroad ties to the Grinder’s depot. A siding and railroad switch there became known as Grinder’s Switch.

Sarah knew the place.

More importantly, she knew the people of this part of Tennessee.

The personalities, mannerisms, relationships and stories of rural Tennessee helped provide the raw material for the world she would eventually create as Minnie Pearl.

And Grinder’s Switch became Minnie Pearl’s fictional hometown.

Not Nashville.

Not even Centerville.

Grinder’s Switch.

A little place along a railroad became part of American popular culture.

That fascinated me.

How Does a Place Become a Story?

That’s where my curiosity shifted.

I’m not particularly interested in finding a sign that says Grinder’s Switch, taking a picture beside it and checking it off a list.

I want to understand something else.

How does an ordinary place become a story?

Sarah Ophelia Colley Cannon didn’t simply tell jokes.

She created a place populated by characters.

There were neighbors and relatives and fellers and church socials. There was an entire world surrounding Minnie Pearl.

Audiences recognized something in it.

Perhaps not literally.

But emotionally.

Grinder’s Switch represented a version of small-town America people understood.

And Sarah carried that place with her to the Grand Ole Opry, where Minnie Pearl became one of country music’s most recognizable personalities.

Suddenly, I wasn’t researching a railroad switch anymore.

I was thinking about place, memory and storytelling.

Those are three things we think about a lot around here.

Then I Discovered the Music Never Really Stopped

Here’s where the rabbit hole became considerably more interesting.

There is still something called the Grinder’s Switch Hour in Centerville.

On Saturday mornings, local and regional musicians gather to play.

That immediately went onto my list.

Not because I’m trying to find another show to attend.

There are plenty of shows.

I’m interested in the people holding the instruments.

Who are they?

Who taught them?

What songs did they grow up hearing?

How long have their families lived around Hickman County?

What does the name Grinder’s Switch mean to them?

And perhaps most importantly:

Who do they know that we should meet?

That’s one of my favorite questions when we’re exploring somewhere new.

Because the person you’re talking with is rarely the end of the story.

They’re usually another doorway.

Then Johnny Cash Appeared

Keep following the rabbit hole and eventually you reach nearby Bon Aqua.

Johnny Cash had a farm there.

It wasn’t simply another celebrity property.

For Cash, the farm became a retreat from a much larger and considerably noisier world—a place where he could spend time away from the demands of being Johnny Cash.

Nearby was a little general store where Cash occasionally performed for local audiences.

Today, that history survives through The Hideaway Farm and Storytellers.

Think about that for a moment.

Within this relatively small piece of Tennessee countryside, we have Minnie Pearl drawing inspiration from the people and communities around Centerville and Johnny Cash finding refuge in the quieter landscape around Bon Aqua.

Maybe that’s coincidence.

Or maybe place matters more to creativity than we sometimes realize.

That’s another question worth exploring.

Then We Found the Wine

Of course we did.

There is a Grinder’s Switch Winery outside Centerville.

At this point Linda would probably tell you that I had gone too far down the rabbit hole to turn around anyway.

The winery is family-owned and carries the Grinder’s Switch name and its connection to this part of Tennessee.

Now I had another set of questions.

What grapes grow here?

Which varieties actually thrive in Middle Tennessee?

What does Tennessee wine taste like when it reflects Tennessee?

How much of what they produce begins in the vineyards around Centerville?

And what can the people tending those vines tell us about this place that we wouldn’t learn from a museum or visitor guide?

If you’ve been following The Resonant Explorer, you probably recognize where this is going.

I’ve recently become fascinated by the idea that a grape can tell us something about a place.

We’ve been exploring American native wine grapes and local varieties around the world because grapes can reveal geography, climate, history, agriculture and culture.

Could Grinder’s Switch add another chapter to that story?

Maybe.

Maybe not.

That’s why you go find out.

But What About Charlie Daniels?

Remember, all of this started with Charlie Daniels.

And here’s another twist.

The Grinder’s Switch reference in “The South’s Gonna Do It Again” isn’t simply about the Tennessee location.

Grinderswitch was also the name of a Southern rock band.

The song moves through references to musicians and bands associated with the Southern music scene of the era.

So suddenly another rabbit hole opens.

Grinder’s Switch.

Grinderswitch.

Charlie Daniels.

The Marshall Tucker Band.

The Allman Brothers.

Capricorn Records.

Macon.

Country.

Blues.

Rock.

Gospel.

The musical boundaries we draw today weren’t always quite so neat.

There is undoubtedly another story hiding in there.

Probably another article.

Perhaps someday even another journey.

For now, I’m resisting the temptation.

Mostly.

So Now We Have to Go

Here’s where an internet rabbit hole becomes something different.

Linda and I expect to be in Tennessee next May for the Santa Family Reunion in eastern Tennessee.

Linda also has family in Shelbyville.

Suddenly, Centerville isn’t some random dot on a Tennessee map.

We’re already going to be in Tennessee.

So why wouldn’t we go looking?

I want to spend a Saturday morning at the Grinder’s Switch Hour.

I want to walk around Centerville.

I want to find someone who can show us where the actual Grinder’s Switch was and explain what we’re looking at.

I want to meet the people behind the winery and find out what they’re growing.

I want to explore Bon Aqua and learn more about Johnny Cash’s connection to the place.

But mostly, I want to ask people one question:

Who should we talk to next?

Before then, we’ll have another opportunity to start asking.

At the National Tour Association’s Travel Exchange this fall, I’ve requested a meeting with the Tennessee Department of Tourist Development.

I’m no longer going into that meeting asking the generic question:

What should travelers see in Tennessee?

I have a much better question.

Who should we meet around Grinder’s Switch?

There is an enormous difference between those two questions.

One gives you a list of attractions.

The other might introduce you to a storyteller.

And I’ll take the storyteller every time.

This Is Why We Follow Rabbit Holes

There was no plan here.

I didn’t sit down intending to develop a Tennessee journey.

I remembered a lyric.

A lyric I had been hearing since I was a teenager.

That lyric finally produced a question.

The question led to a railroad.

The railroad led to Minnie Pearl.

Minnie Pearl led to Centerville.

Centerville led to musicians.

The musicians led to Johnny Cash.

Somewhere along the way we found a winery.

And now Linda and I are talking about going there.

That is precisely why I love rabbit holes.

Curiosity connects things that itineraries don’t.

An itinerary tells you where you’re going.

Curiosity asks why it matters.

And sometimes the answer doesn’t appear until you get there and sit across the table from someone who knows the story.

The Train to Grinder’s Switch

We have now added American Originals: The Train to Grinder’s Switch to the What Are We Dreaming About? stage at Epic Explorations.

That’s exactly where it belongs.

This isn’t a tour.

There are no dates.

There isn’t an itinerary.

I’m not even certain yet that there’s a journey here.

There is simply enough of a story that I want to know more.

Next May, we’ll go looking.

Maybe we’ll discover the beginnings of a future Epic Explorations journey.

Maybe we’ll discover that Grinder’s Switch is best experienced as a single fascinating afternoon.

Or perhaps someone sitting in Centerville on a Saturday morning will tell us a story that sends us somewhere we haven’t even considered yet.

I rather hope it’s the last one.

Because the best rabbit holes rarely end where you expect.

And there’s something wonderfully appropriate about the fact that a song I started listening to as a teenager may finally send me somewhere more than fifty years later.

The train to Grinder’s Switch may be running right on time.

Maybe I just needed fifty years to get to the station.