On Being Southern

At the end of August, I flew Up North to visit Sisser and our Indy (as in Indianapolis) Cousin. Their sweet souls surprised me with the trip and even bought my tickets! They are the quintessential best and every woman on the planet needs women like them in her life. One of the things I do when making a trip via airplane is buy a couple of magazines. My name is Michelle and I am from the late 20th century. I LOVE A MAGAZINE! Inside one of them was a question the editor posed to the staff:  "What does it mean to be Southern?" Many of the answers stole the words right from my mouth and from my heart. I thought it would make a wonderful topic of conversation for us.

For me, being Southern hits all the senses and invades your way of thinking. My move Down South came at the tender age of 21, as a new bride, but I think part of my soul was always here. Likely, I have my grandparents to thank for that. Hearing the remnants of their Arkansas accents left undisturbed by long years in Michigan created grooves on my internal soundtrack. Something that I needed to hear regularly, constantly. It created a sound of home for my soul. I remember a girl from Georgia (of all places) moving to my junior high school and listening to her talk absolutely drove me to distraction (and detention for failure to complete my work)! I posed this question about the meaning of being Southern to my FB page and my sweet uncle responded that hearing the accent brings comfort to him. Same, dear  Uncle. Same.

Of course, there's the food. Sunday dinner...which happens at midday... means tucking in at a table laden and groaning with all sorts of goodies. Some of it prepared Saturday night; some of it before heading out the door for Sunday worship; the rest of it as soon as you walk in from church and can snatch an apron on over your church clothes. Aunt Rena (one of Mr. Snark's great aunts on his daddy's side) was one to absolutely cover the countertop with serving dishes. Not an inch of breathing space on that counter but she would stand back and say, "Well, we ain't got much. This will have to do." Making sure that everyone has their favorite thing(s) creates the traffic jam of bowls and platters. Come Sunday, counting carbs is a task of Herculean proportions. If you have a cheat day, it's probably Sunday at your mama's/granny's/aunt's/cousin's house. There is a caricature of Southern cuisine, well earned, but slightly out of date. Don't get me wrong...we LOVE a good piece of fried chicken and most likely, will try to fry anything we can get our hands on but there has been a shift in how we feed ourselves. Maybe it's been all across the foodie spectrum, I don't know. Farm to table...field to table...local, in season...all of these have found their way into Southern kitchens and it's a beautiful thing. Granted, this has probably been a thing way before the tastemakers and trendsetters latched on to it. Who cares who did it first?  Let's just enjoy it and watch others enjoy it. There's not much that fills my emotional tank quicker than watching folks enjoy a meal I've prepared for them. And if they go back for seconds?  Well, just butter me and call me a biscuit! 

Life Down South includes long, hot summers. I thought I knew heat before I left Michigan, and then I moved to Tennessee. And then I moved to Georgia. And then to Birmingham. And then back to Georgia. However, none of the summers spent in any of these places compares with a summer mission trip to a small, gulf coast Mississippi town. We were there for about a week in 2011 with our B'ham church. Have you ever been so hot all you wanted to do was unzip your skin and lie around in your bones? That's just how hot it was. Sweating in places I didn't know could sweat...my normally straight hair curling because of the humidity. A trip to StuffMart for supplies was a joy just to feel that first blast of COLD a/c upon entering the store. I might have shed a few tears out of sheer happiness. If you want to know why sweetened iced tea is the drink of choice, it's summer's fault. There are benefits to the long summers. Gardens produce tomatoes, peppers, beans and peas of numerous varieties, okra, squash, cucumbers, blackberries, blueberries, and peaches (just to name a few) earlier and longer than in other places. And the flowers! My first spring/summer in Tennessee was mind boggling. Everywhere I turned, something was blooming. Dogwoods, azaleas, wisteria, honeysuckle, jasmine, camellias, and magnolias...it was all new to me. My sinuses got a work out with all the new pollen. Of course, if I had kept my nose out of things, it probably would have been better. What fun is that??

We can't leave without discussing that famous and well regaled Southern hospitality. It's not a myth. It's not a legend. It's real. Often, it's just time...taking the time to have a real conversation, to be engaged and interested. We teach our children to say "ma'am" and "sir" as a way of honoring their elders and for no other reason than that. When help is offered, we expect you to take us up on it and not be shy about asking. We mean it when we ask you to come again and to stay longer when you do. It's going the extra steps to make folks feel welcome--those extra steps that make them feel more like family instead of guests or visitors.

There's a quirkiness about life Down South. We love a small town festival and will celebrate just about anything. Crawfish, swamp cabbage, rattlesnake roundups, sweet onions, turpentine...no joke. Each of these things comes with its own festival and accompanying beauty queens. Shoot, Mr. Snark is kin to one of LaBelle, Florida's Swamp Cabbage Queens! A certain subset of women folk still make a weekly trek to the beauty parlor for set and style hair dos. There's a regular gathering of elderly gentlemen that visit Mickey D's every morning. They used to assemble at H--dee's down the street but it closed. Most families have one or two eccentric relatives...the aunt with the collection of porcelain dolls, each having a name and backstory. The uncle that ran moonshine back in the day and lived to tell the tale..and it is suspected that he continues to manufacture for his own enjoyment. Crazy doesn't get hidden in the attic. We've already talked about how hot it gets down here. That would be cruel. Naawww, crazy sits on the front porch and discusses the other crazy it sees. By the way, I think the heat is to blame for the eccentricity, too. It just warps folks in particular ways not known in cooler climates.

It seems like there's an extra portion of passion or intensity that comes with being Southern. If we can buy fireworks to shoot for 4th of July, why not for New Year's? And just for fun, why not keep some back for St. Patrick's Day or any day ending in "y"? Anyone can wear a t-shirt for their favorite college football team, but some Southern mamas will go the extra mile to have t-shirts made for little Bo's rec department team and/or Mary Louise's dance squad. If we can decorate the house and yard for Christmas, we may as well start early...like October. It seeps into everything we do. Again, I blame the heat.

Being Southern is something I'm proud of. My life isn't perfect. Life Down South isn't perfect. There have been some horribly sad moments in years past and in those more recent. But I like to believe, I have to believe, that many of us have learned from those mistakes. We want to do better for those around us and make a difference for the greater good. We want to find that happy balance between holding onto tradition/values and life in this fast paced, modern world.

As long as it includes fireworks, fried okra, and Aunt Myrtle Jean's doll collection.