In a rut

I've always heard that couples occasionally go through rough periods, small ruts. Well, I fear that the South and I are in a rut.

In case you haven't noticed, my posts have become few and far between. It's not that I don't love entertaining you with my southern wit and sarcasm (that's a joke), but lately I haven't had anything southern-relevant happen.

I think part of the issue is that I'm in Savannah. I know that this city is supposed to be steeped in tradition and history, home to many famous monuments and Civil War fortifications, but quite honestly I walk through the tradition every day without feeling its weight.

At home in the hills of North Carolina, our southern heritage is everywhere. It's in the stories told by a hillbilly at the gas station. It's in the abundance of broken down automobiles in the neighbor's front yard. It's in the redneck parade that kicks off every high school year.

Yep. That's three different kinds of Sweet Potatoes. Both tradition and heritage at its finest.

But mostly, it's in the goodness of the people - the ones who remind me of the truth in the phrase "southern hospitality." All the monuments and fortifications in the world can't replace the southern feeling I get when I'm around my kinfolk (that's southern for "family").

So tonight, I apologize. I've neglected you my fair readers, but I refuse to give you less than the best. So bear with me while I navigate my way through this strange southern terrain... but feel free to bless some hearts in the meantime, you should all be experts by now.

I'm from the mountains

So apparently there is a hurricane headed toward Savannah. Awesome.

It's looking like winds anywhere from 90-115mph and a category 2-3 hurricane by the time it graces the coastal empire with its presence. Awesome.

Clearly this hurricane does not read my blog, because if it did then it would know that I'm from the mountains, far away from oceans and hurricanes. Snow I can handle. Hurricanes are not my scene.

We've had one hurricane in recent memory - Hurricane Hugo back in the 80s. We're practically born again hurricane virgins. So don't do it Hurricane Irene, just take a moment to collect yourself and calm down.

Some news sources are comparing the impending storm to Hurricane Hugo. That is not a good sign. So I am spending my evening learning the ins and outs of hurricane etiquette.

Also, I have an obsession with furniture, so I will admit that I am most worried about damage to my beloved furniture and my car, which is my other pride and joy. I know it's selfish and materialistic, but I can't help it. I love my furniture and my car.

Bless the hearts of anyone in the path of this hurricane, I hope you're more well-versed in hurricane procedures than I am!

Hoarding: Buried Alive

Last night, I was livid and highly offended, as was my roommate. Per usual, we were watching our DVR'd episodes of Hoarding: Buried Alive, the greatest show ever if your stomach is strong enough.

On this particular episode a man named Floyd was living in absolute filth and large amounts of mold in northern California. That's fine, do what you will with your life. But then it was revealed that Floyd's 2-year-old son, Charlie, lived with him. Every time this child was shown on the screen he had a deep cough, presumably from the mold infested house.

Outside of the house. Yes, that's a spare trailer on the right side of the photo.
Who doesn't need one of those?

To get a better feel for this episode, feel free to watch this quick clip.

Every morning Charlie and Floyd would wake up, brush their teeth and eat breakfast like any normal father and son. Except that in this household there was really nowhere to sit, there were loaded firearms haphazardly secured to the ceiling with zip ties and there was broken glass scattered about. 

Then came the kicker.

Floyd explained very calmly that this was just the country way of life, that in the country things didn't have to be spic and span, that a little dirt never hurt a child.

You're right Floyd, dirt doesn't hurt children, but loaded firearms and mold do.

Living in a hoard does not constitute the country way of life, but I certainly appreciate that Floyd is  furthering the rest of the country's perception of country life. Awesome.

Sure, where I'm from there is no shortage of broken down cars, electronics and large-scale appliances sitting on front lawns. But there are equal amounts of well cared for homes and farms.

Last time I checked, country folk were some of the most prideful in the world and that includes taking pride in their land and their homes.

The only heart to bless in this post is California CPS. Although just to give an update, they did return his children (there was also a 1-year-old) after he cleaned it all up. Awesome.

A Mountain Kind of Feeling

At work today I was researching various gated communities, so naturally I ventured to the North Carolina staples - Hound Ears, Eseeola, Linville Ridge, etc. - even thought I work in Georgia.

When I clicked on Linville Ridge's website, the photo that unfolded before me literally made my heart hurt. I thought I was going to cry. It was the most gorgeous mountain view.

I thought I was assimilating to the low country culture. Apparently not. I believe I might just be avoiding all mountain thoughts and mountain related subjects.

How can you not love this view?
(View from the Blue Ridge Parkway near Boone, NC)

There is just something about fresh mountain air, quirky mountain folk and delectable mountain eatin' that when combined creates the most peaceful experience.

I will never understand people that don't enjoy the mountains. What is there not to like? Bless their hearts, they must not be going to the right places.

6th Annual Tater Hill Open

Apparently there are 48,000 registered pilots in France. And by pilots, I mean pilots of hang gliders and paragliders. There are only 4,000 registered pilots in the United States.

It's like the soccer debacle all over again. The United States always seems to miss out on the really good sports.  I digress.

On Saturday I went with my dad (a retired hang glider) to the 6th Annual Tater Hill Open. This event is absolutely incredible.

Take off site on top of Tater Hill.

Pilots from all over the country and the world (Peru, Germany, Brazil and England to name a few) come to Tater Hill, one of the best flying spots in North Carolina, to spend a week jumping off a mountain.

Perfect.

This is what the pilot sees.

Although the weather conditions were not ideal when my father and I went, we were still able to see 3 paragliders fly and 1 incredible landing.

Bless the heart of Lynne Townsend. Lynne, a photographer, flew tandem with an experienced pilot to captured some incredible shots of other flyers.

I will leave you with my two favorite anecdotes from the trip.

My Dad: "They use all kinds of fancy equipment these days - GPS, communication devices, barometers."
Me: What do they use the communicators for?
Dad: So pilots can tell each other when they are near each other.
Me: What did you do back when you flew?
Dad: We just yelled, "Hey! I'm underneath you!"

Random Wife of a Pilot: I'm an ER nurse and I hate it when those meth addicts come into the ER.
Dad: Meth addicts?
Random Wife: Oh hell yeah. Those people will fight you for an hour just to get $0.75. Nothing makes me stick someone with a big needle faster than a mouthy meth addict.

The other soundtrack to my life

I know that I've already written about how the banjo is the soundtrack to my life, but I think I have two soundtracks. Please don't think I'm cheating on the banjo, it's not like that.

I just happened to find one particular song that I love equally - the banjo will understand.

"Take a Back Road" by Rodney Atkins

This is the song that epitomizes where I'm at in my life right now. I live in a city, and don't get me wrong I love it most of the time, but every once in a while I just want to be on a country road.

Bless Rodney Atkins' heart, he always knows just what to say.

Driving Miss Daisy

If you follow my blog or know me at all then you’ve heard (read) my discussions about how torn I am between being country and being proper. Well, nothing has changed, we’re just moving on to the driving conundrum.

I’m no Miss Daisy, but as a good southern woman I prefer to be driven whenever I’m out with a man. This is most certainly not a hard and fast rule, but it is traditional. What can I say? I like tradition.

See me in the back seat?

But here comes the conundrum… one of my greatest passions in life is driving.

I love everything about it – the wind in my hair, the feel of my car winding down a switchback road, the sound of music drifting out my windows into the open air. And more than that, it’s my version of therapy.

Again, if you know me at all, then you know that I drive when I’m upset. Have no fear fellow drivers, I don’t go cruising around if I’m too upset to be safe, but if I just need to clear my head and get some perspective on a situation then nothing is better than a drive down an old back road.

My proper side loves to be driven. My country side loves to drive. It’s a war of independence, a clash of ideals and I have no control over it. At least I don’t feel like I do.

This issue only recently surfaced and its origin traces back to an incredibly unhealthy relationship I had with my ex-boyfriend. He always drove us everywhere, which was great in the beginning, except we always took my car because his was unreliable.

Then it progressed to the point where he did not allow me to drive my own car when we went out. Period. No discussion.

I know what you’re thinking, and no, I have no idea why I stayed with him. But I digress.

Luckily the relationship finally ran its course and I regained full control of my car. But now I struggle to let anyone else drive it, let alone a man. I need to reaffirm my independence and my control over my own life, so I’m doing it in the simplest way possible – driving.

So am I proper or am I country? Do I want to drive or be driven? Do I want beer or wine?

Bless your heart, if you know the answer I sure wish you’d tell me because I’d love to know.

Praying to Dionysus

Since I crossed the Georgia border I've been praying to Dionysus and he finally answered my prayers by way of the Butterducks Winery in Guyton, Georgia.




Put an animal on your label and people are putty in your hands.


For those of you who aren't up to par on Greek God trivia, Dionysus, also known as Bacchus, is the God of wine, agriculture and fertility of land. Essentially he's my hero.

If you don't know about my love affair with wine, then you don't know me at all. Shame on you.

I will direct your attention to the right side of this photo.
I also have a love affair with stemware - and this is only part of my collection.  Don't judge me.

On a trip to Savannah prior to my graduate school induced move, my father and I had a very fateful visit to a winery in City Market. I have blocked that portion of my life from my memory because it was so terrible.

It was the first time in my life I'd wanted to spit out wine. I never waste wine.

From that moment on I was convinced that North Carolina was the only state that had great independent wineries. Before you say anything, yes, I realize plenty of other states have them too. But let me be a little narcassistic on behalf of my great state, alright?

Then it all changed.

I got a magical phone call that my friend, knowing my love of wine, had located a winery in the country - totally my style.

As soon as the first sip of that sweet Chardonnay hit my lips, the light butter taste and smooth oak accent let me know that Dionysus hadn't forgotten about me, he'd lead me home.

Bless your heart Dionysus, I bet you knew how to have a good time.

The country bar

As I mentioned before, most of my friends in Savannah are not from the South, although several are from rural communities. But even though we share the bond of the rural perspective, I think we're having some linguistic discrepencies.

For as long as I can remember they have been talking about finding a country bar. There was even talk of square dancing and cowboy boots. I think we're on two different pages.

Where I'm from, I would consider most every bar to be country. In my mind there isn't a deliniation between country and non-country bar... they're just bars.

At the bars I'm used to, there isn't much square dancing, mind you, and while most people do wear cowboy boots, it's only because those are their fancy shoes. However, you will find in droves the staple of any country bar -- rednecks throwing back Budweisers like they're going out of style.

Maybe they'll let us join their drinking team? A girl can only dream.

With this experience in my mind, I feel like my friends and I are going into this adventure with different expectations. I'm expecting to see a bar filled with rednecks drinking beer, completely reminiscent of my high school days. I think they might be expecting to see a bar scene out of 8 seconds, but dramatized with a choreographed dance number, of course.

But then again, we will be in rural Georgia. Anything can happen, right? Bless their hearts, this is the home of the redneck games. What's a little square dancing after spending a day bobbing for pig's feet?

Anyone need a green card?

I recently made a trip home to North Carolina. While I was there I got to spend some time with Bob*, one of my best friends from undergrad - quite the treat!

However, things almost took a turn for the worse (or the hilarious) when my sister and I took Bob with us to lunch at a hole in the wall sandwich place in the country.

At this point it is important to note that Bob is the trifecta of ethnicities - French Canadian, American and Mexican. But physically speaking the Mexican portion is the most prominent.

While eating lunch, another old friend of mine, James*, walked in. After chatting with him for a few minutes, I returned to my table to find my sister and Bob laughing hysterically.

Apparently, they were planning to approach James and tell him that Bob and I were engaged, but only so Bob could get his green card. As fuel to the fire, Bob was going to speak solely in Spanish the entire time.

Green means go?

Hilarious, but not good.

In my hometown, people are not exactly fond of hispanics, nor do they respect them very often. So the prospect of one of their own (me) dating "one of them" (my hispanic friend) probably wouldn't have gone over too well.

Bless my heart, if they had followed through it could have branded me for the rest of my dating life.

*Names have been changed.

Personally, I'd like another Southern Renaissance

I was having a conversation recently about the North -- Shocking, I know -- and I mentioned that the North is intriguing to me because of all the great authors that hail from that region. The names Emerson, Dickinson and Hawthorne come to mind.

But even as I cited New England authors as some of the American greats, the words felt sour on my tongue because the South has produced just as many influential authors. They just don't necessarily receive the same type of recognition.

William Faulkner, Robert Penn Warren, W.J. Cash -- these were some of the most transcendent writers of their time, and mine for that matter, but for the most unlikely reason.

Crazy guy that William Faulkner.

Robert Penn Warren, he's a funny one.

As my former Southern history professor used to say, these authors burst the Southern bubble of unreality. Meaning that they said the things Southern women had been sweeping under the rug for decades and decades. They exposed the secret that the South wasn't as romantic as it seemed.

Needless to say, things got a little messy. But the ensuing literary movement, the Southern Renaissance, which began in the 1920s and 1930s, helped propel the South from being known as the land of anti-intellectuals to a place that might have some semblance of a brain.

So the next time you hear someone mention the great American authors, you make sure they remember the Southern authors too.

Bless your heart William Faulkner, you did us proud even if you were crazy.

Home is where the rebels yell

I've been reluctant to admit it, but Georgia (specifically Savannah) is growing on me. Let's not go crazy here, Georgia and I still have plenty of issues to work out, but overall it isn't so bad.

Except for being unable to buy alcohol at all on Sunday's. I will never get over that.

In North Carolina we can buy alcohol on Sunday's after 12. I'm not sure they meant to make it that way, but that time is oddly convenient to the time church gets out. Food for thought.

North Carolina A.L.E. is locked and loaded.

But just as I thought I was starting to accept my newfound coastal lifestyle, I went home. And I attended a country music concert no less.

I walked away from that concert with two revelations. One, Tim McGraw is the George Clooney of the country music world, a.k.a. he is a hot old man. Two, I miss North Carolina so much it hurts.

There is just nothing like sitting on the lawn of a Tim McGraw, Luke Bryan and The Band Perry concert, hearing the performers talk about how great North Carolina is and then hearing an overwhelming amount of rebel yells in response.

Home sweet home.

As I weaved my way to the bathroom I passed a multitude of men with no shirt, a beer gut and work boots on. It was enough to bring a tear to my eye... especially after that $14 Strawberry Daiquiri.

Georgia has been a nice place to live for now, at this time in my life. But there is just no place quite like North Carolina.

I love it, hate it and am confused by it, but at the end of the day, bless my heart, it's my home.

I leave you to enjoy a song by North Carolina native Eric Church titled "Carolina."

Depends on how you were raised

As I'm sure you're aware, yesterday was the Fourth of July and being the patriotic person that I am, I celebrated with a good ol' fashioned BBQ on the lake (more on that later).

At this particular BBQ there was a guy I met who was originally from up North and who was none to happy about being in the South. This of course caused me to make assumptions about him. And we all know what happens when people assume.

This guy turned out to be one of the most polite, well-mannered and genuine people I've ever met, which intrigued me. Later in the night I was talking to him about that fact and mentioned that he was already acting like a southern gentleman.

He looked at me and casually said, "It has nothing to do with the South. This was just how I was raised."

Touche.

I of all people should never have made the assumption that regional influences had anything to do with how polite a person is or is not. I know plenty of rednecks who are just as rude as stereotypical Northerners.

This guy is right. Bless your heart, regional differences aside, at the end of the day how you are raised and the person you choose to be is what really matters.

The southern spokesperson

Last night I hung out with my friend from Pennsylvania (the same one from several posts ago), and once again she got me thinking. What can I say? She's very interested in learning about different cultures.

Here is the gist of our conversation:

Her: So I've been meaning to ask you, when people in the North fly rebel flags, what are they representing?
Me: You made me pause Food Network Star to ask me that?
Her: Well I figured you would know.
While her assumption was accurate, the whole conversation made me think about my newfound position as the self-proclaimed spokesperson of the South. Until my Southern awakening in undergrad, I had about as much Southern knowledge as a Northerner.

But then again, a lot of the people I grew up with didn't either. I went to school with several people who thought the South won the Civil War, but that's a whole different conversation.

What's that I hear? A chorus of rebel yells coming from my hometown?
I hate to crush their dreams and tell them the truth but here it goes... we lost the Civil War.

Here are things I knew about the South when I was growing up:

1. We lost the Civil War and a lot of people were not happy about it
2. Outsiders thought it was funny when we said "Y'all"
3. We blessed more people than the Pope (Women blessed hearts; men blessed people out)
4. The redneck parade marked the start of every school year (This was when all the rednecks in the school - 50% of the people - got in trucks, flew rebel flags and drove around the school parking lot. Yeehaw.)
5. Saying "please," "thank you," "ma'am" and "sir" were not options, they were strict rules.

But even after my Southern awakening, I still held more cultural than historical knowledge. That is until I took History of the South my senior year of college. It changed my whole world and with that semester in my back pocket, I am now a plethora of random Southern knowledge.

So bless her heart, at this time in my life, my friend accurately assumed I would have the answer to most any Southern question. Thank you Dr. Speer for teaching me well.

The southern belle card

I have noticed a running trend at my workplace. Whenever I need to negotiate with external people (sometimes internal people as well) my boss and I agree that I should pull the southern belle card.

Sweet, southern belles. How can you say no to that?

This, of course, meaning that I thicken up the proper part of my accent and raise my voice by an octave - something I have been perfecting since my childhood. 

Oh, and batting my eyelashes is a crucial part of the process. This must be done as though the person on the other end of the phone can actually see you. Quit laughing. I'm serious - It actually helps create the persona.

But today, I outdid myself. To the delight of my boss, I managed to successfully become the snarky southern belle.

That's right. I was the southern belle's antithesis while also being the southern belle. And I got my way.

Could I do again? Probably not. Am I even sure how I did it? Not at all. Am I super proud? Absolutely.

Now, I know what you're thinking. Southern belles can be snarky and sassy. And I agree, but usually when you're trying to play the southern belle card, you don't incorporate anything except pristine, sweet femininity.

Snarky doesn't fall in that category.

Bless my heart, this was a one time performance!

The economic accent

After my last post about the difference in accents I got into a very interesting discussion with a friend from Pennsylvania about regional accents. She was asking me about different parts of North and South Carolina and whether I could tell a difference.

As a general rule the answer was yes. What can I say? I'm the Rain Man of southern dialects.

However, the whole discussion got me thinking about how different dialects can be even within a single town. And that's when it hit me.

Accents and affluence are incredibly interconnected.

I really began to notice this when I moved to Savannah. The only people I have heard speak with a genuine low country accent have been very affluent and highly educated or cultured.

In The Notebook, Lon was from old southern money and his accent reflected it.

Back home, the people who tend to speak with a redneck accent also tend to not have very much money, traditional education (grammar, math, geography, etc.) or culture.

I'm going to bet that this gentleman speaks a different dialect than ol' Lon Hammond.

This is, of course, a generalization, but it has been my experience that accents follow money. The more affluent the person, the more pristine and proper the accent.

Just a little food for thought.

But then again, bless my heart, I'm highly traditionally educated and my accent does not exactly reflect that circumstance.

The perfect accent

I recently encountered a woman who has the perfect Southern accent. She's a Savannah, Georgia native and, with impressive finesse, drops the letter "r" in any word possible. Love it!

My own accent lacks the sugary sweetness of hers. When I say "bless your heart" people assume I'm being rude (which usually isn't a bad assumption), but when she says "bless your heart" people assume she's being sincere (although I'm not sure they should).

I've made many friends in Savannah who aren't from the South and I always have to give the high country versus low country talk. Most people genuinely don't realize there is a difference in dialect and accent.

Wrong.

I managed to find a couple YouTube videos to demonstrate the difference. The first one is a girl potentially from my own hometown in North Carolina. Her accent is genuine and very representative of our accent.

The second video is of a woman giving tips on how to do a deep southern accent (think Scarlett O'Hara). I apologize in advance because she sounds like an idiot and her accent is clearly fake. However, after much searching and little reward, this is the best I could find. You'll get the gist of it.

If you didn't know the difference in accents, then bless your heart I hope you learned something today. And yes, your assumption is correct -- I meant that "bless your heart" to be snarky.

My my, how things change

Well fair readers, I stumbled upon an interesting article this morning in the New York Times. The headline reads "For New Life, Blacks in City Head South."

Really now? I'm intrigued. Tell me more.

Apparently a lot of black New Yorkers, particularly those in Queens, are moving South because of our low real estate prices, economic opportunities and soured racial relations. According to the article,

"About 17 percent of the African-Americans who moved to the South from other states in the past decade came from New York, far more than from any other state, according to census data. Of the 44,474 who left New York State in 2009, more than half, or 22,508, went to the South, according to a study conducted by the sociology department of Queens College for The New York Times."

Really now? Economic opportunities? Because the last time I checked, the counties around my hometown had some of the highest unemployment rates in the state (almost 2% higher than New York I might add). And this mass exodus from New York is targeting North Carolina, Florida, Virginia and Georgia. Interesting.

My other favorite part of the article was this catchy little line --

“My grandmother’s generation left the South and came to the North to escape segregation and racism,” she [Ms. Wilkins] said. “Now, I am going back because New York has become like the old South in its racial attitudes.”

Really now? Because the last time I checked (which was some time in the last month) I was informed that the South is still incredibly segregated, particularly in cities.

So essentially, everyone wants to talk about how bad the racial tension is in the South, but now the truth is coming out. The truth being that there is racial tension everywhere, ours just happens to historically pack more gusto.

Very interesting. I'm actually shocked by this article. I honestly believed that everyone still thought the South was this antebellum museum of racial tension and men wearing bed sheets.

Bless my heart, I stand corrected. Thank you New York Times.

Feng Shui (a.k.a. Fung Shway)

I recently spent some time at a very special multi-million dollar home on Skidaway Island, Georgia.

I know what you're thinking, what multi-million dollar house isn't special? I know mine is. Oh wait...

Sorry, I digress. So what makes this house so special is that the owners, a Chinese couple, planned everything (even the foundation, which had to be re-done 3 times) according to the principles of feng shui.

Feng Shui Map

Again, I know what you're thinking, that stupid Fung Shway is a bunch of gibberish and can't possible work. I confess to you dear readers that I too was a non-believer... until I walked into this house.

As soon as I walked in I felt at peace. All the energy was in balance as was my chi. I hadn't even realized it wasn't.

The whole experience got me thinking about the South and all of its issues.

Maybe the South has bad feng shui and out of balance chi. I suggest we get specialists involved right away and save ourselves another 150 years or so of turmoil. Agreed?

Attitudes like this are how we got in this predicament.

Bless our hearts, if all it takes is a little re-arranging of energy to fix everything then that would just be... I just don't even know!

Football vs. Futbol

Prepare yourself football fans. Swaddle yourself in team colors, rub your Joe Montana bobblehead and schedule an emergency therapy session because the truth is about to come out.

Soccer is better than football. Period.

Valid point.

Honestly, I've never paid much mind to football loyalists. I appreciate the intensity of the sport, which is usually less than the intensity of the fans in my experience. And I appreciate the range of skills needed and all that jazz.

Need I say more?

But at the end of the day, I've just always known that soccer was better so I kept my mouth shut and let footballers live their dream.

Until now. Now it's personal.

My nephew has a football themed nursery. My sister and I have been avid soccer players and fans since we were 5. If you do the math you will realize that something isn't adding up and that something is my brother-in-law.

A southern man and by nature a football fan. Fail.

Since the day my sister found out she was pregnant she and I have been fighting an uphill battle, arguing our case for why we think Lucas (my nephew) should play soccer.

Given all the "discussions" that have ensued I can only come up with a few plausible outcomes:

1. He'll harness his rebel genes and play tennis just to spite us all
2. He'll be in the 2022 World Cup in Qatar
3. He'll play football (that is worst case scenario)

I hate to be the bearer of bad news for my brother-in-law but soccer starts a younger age than football. Bless his heart, I know someone who's getting "Soccer for Dummies" for Christmas this year.

She was wearing what?

I apologize dear readers, but I'm going to have to keep today's post short and sweet.

I offer you an anecdote told to me by my roommate, who always tends to stumble upon the damndest things.

A few days ago my roommate was sitting in traffic in the parking lot of our neighborhood Home Depot (after this story you will understand why I am a strict Lowe's Hardware shopper).

As he was waiting he happened to glance out his passenger side window where he noticed a strange sight.

A white-trash woman (sorry for the political incorrectness - I'm just the messenger) got out of the passenger side of a beat-up car in a pair of shorts so short that Daisy Duke would have been offended and a bra. No shirt.

In my mind it looked like this, but trashier.

She proceeded to put on a shirt, take something (presumably money) from a very large man in the front seat. As she walked away, he drove away. Interesting.

My roommate felt sure he had just witnessed sexual solicitation, a.k.a. prostitution.

No offense to the happy duo, but this kind of activity seems better suited for the WalMart parking lot.

But I guess sometimes the country comes into the city.

Bless his heart, maybe taking her to the Home Depot parking lot was the prostitution equivalent of a man taking his woman to the McDonald's and letting her supersize her order. Classy and respectful.

Is John Deere married to Jane Deere?

Growing up, my family was anything but redneck. Sure we lived in a small town and did small town activities, but those activities did not include NASCAR, cow tipping or anything involving tractors or tractor accessories.

Things are a little different now.

First, my father moved out to an even more rural area which abides by the "tractor factor." Meaning that in the same way that city folk don't travel during rush hour, country folk don't travel during prime tractor time.

You can't fathom how long it takes to get somewhere when you are stuck behind a tractor going 5 mph. Trust me. And most all the tractors I've seen are John Deere.

Side note: My father may live in a rural area, but he is far from redneck. He just enjoys a simplier lifestyle, which I have to say I thoroughly enjoy myself.

Then my sister married a redneck. A legitimate redneck. We have affectionately dubbed them "The Rednecks."

Side note: My sister is a semi-legitimate redneck now, complete with a John Deere themed kitchen and dining room.

Legit rednecks. God bless them - I love them!

At Christmas a few years back, my father even bought my sister a Jane Deere sweatshirt.

That's right folks -- Jane Deere. Potential wife of John Deere, but I haven't researched their relationship status of late.

So I ask you fair readers - what is with the Southern obsession with the Deere clan? Someone please tell me, because I would love to know.

Bless her heart, I even had a friend in college who had a John Deere tattoo on her lower abdomen.

That's right. Lower Abdomen.

Life on the outside

After yesterday's post, I started wondering - what's life like outside of the South?

Sure, I spent 24 hours driving to Colorado where I spent 2 glorious days exploring the area around Aspen.  However, I slept through 60% of the drive, so I learned little to nothing about the rest of the country during my adventure.

So other than cell phone pictures of the Mississippi River and the jail where Charlie Sheen was held, I'm still at a loss for what it's like on the other side.


Oh Charlie Sheen. Seeing that jail was the highlight of my trip.



I hear my non-southern friends talk about their experiences and how different it is, but no one can seem to pinpoint what is so different.



Clearly we do things differently, but I just can't put my finger on exactly what it is.

They say there isn't segregation and no one cares about race outside of the South, but from what I've gathered, all cities seem to be segregated in one way or another whether intentionally or unintentionally.

My friends tell me that we do things slower in the South. I have to disagree again... to an extent of course.



Cities are fast-paced, even in the South. Rural areas are slow-paced, even outside the South. That seems to me to be less of a regional issue and more of a population issue.

So how else are we different?

I wouldn't know. I haven't really left.

But bless my heart, with an possibly impending trip to Utah I'm sure I will find out!

Southern Geography

Not too long ago I was having a conversation with a co-worker (and fellow Southerner). It went something like this:

Me: I've only traveled out of the south once and that was a 2 day excursion to Colorado.
Her: Really? But you are really well-spoken.

Then last night I was discussing with my roommate the possibility of a trip to Utah. The conversation went like this:

Me: So I was thinking about going to Utah.
Him: Like flying there? In a plane?
Me: ...seriously? Yes, in a plane.
Him: I'm impressed. You know that's across the Mississippi, right?

If these incidents had been isolated they wouldn't have had the same impact. But they really got me thinking.

Most of my Southern friends and family have rarely (if ever) traveled outside of the South, much less outside of the country.

And the lack of geographical knowledge is astounding. Start throwing out names like Ontario, Malasia, Albania or New York and you're going to need an atlas and a lot of time and patience.

So why is it that Southerners know so little about the rest of the country (and world)? Obviously this is a generalization, but in my experience it tends to be a more prominent generalization among Southerners.

Is the South just so amazing that we have no need to learn about anything else? Or have our 6th grade geography teachers failed us?

I don't think there is any sort of answer to this question, but I do think it is an important issue that needs to be addressed.

And for the record, yes, I am a Southern woman who has barely traveled outside the South. And yes, I am very well-spoken. My Southern education has served me well, thank you very much.

If your geography skills are a little lackluster, then bless your heart, I guess I know what to get you for Christmas.

Diamond rings and Hot Chelle Rae

Because of my status as a southern woman, I always assumed I would be married before I was 25.

Well you know what happens when you assume.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not trying to be the Charlotte York of Savannah and run a campaign for nuptials. But for a long time it bothered me that I was a 23-year-old with no prospect speeding toward me on a white horse. I felt like a failure to my heritage and an anomaly in my county.

Not anymore, because last night I had an encounter with Hot Chelle Rae's song "Tonight Tonight."

But I'm getting ahead of myself here. Let me back up.

Last night, before my Hot Chelle Rae epiphany, I went on a casual date with a guy I met a few weeks ago. He was a total gentleman and we had a perfectly lovely evening filled with good conversation and delicious food.

But I noticed that the entire night I kept talking about my summer internship and how much I loved my work. At one point I even said how "career-minded" I was.

Then I realized it was true. I am extremely career-minded and I like it that way. Marriage would be nice, but it's not an immediate priority and that's okay.

And as the weight lifted from my shoulders, I had a little talk with myself:
It's 2011 for Christ's sake, Megan. Southern women can do more than get married and juggle children, careers and husbands. We can even drive cars now... and wear pants. Live your life!

Now to the Hot Chelle Rae portion of the evening. When I arrived home my roommate informed me that he had finally downloaded "Tonight Tonight," and proceeded to play it.

As I danced around the kitchen baking muffins to the rhythm of that hilarious song at 11:00 at night, I realized that I am happy. And I'm single.

But bless the heart of any man who marries me, he might want to see my white girl dancing skills before he makes any rash decisions.

Hollar? No, Hauler!

I apologize fair readers for neglecting my blog for so long, but I come to you today with a heavy heart and sad news.

Living in Savannah is causing me to lose my southernness - well, my ability to understand Southern speak anyway... let's not get carried away here.

Allow me to offer you an example. I felt like a Northerner - no offense to any Northern readers - because on my most recent trip home, my own sister had to explain herself.

My Sister: "We had a great time at the [NASCAR] race last weekend."
Me: "Oh yeah? That's great!"
Sister: "On the way out we saw all the haulers!"
Me: "I didn't know Charlotte [North Carolina] had hollars?"
Sister: "No, not hollars as in hollows or places to live, but haulers as in the trucks that carry the race cars from race to race."
Me: "Oh. So there was a 'u' in that word?"
Sister: "I guess. You know I'm a bad speller."

Kasey Kahne's Hauler.

Loretta Lynn's Holler (It's usually spelled with an 'e' in areas such as Kentucky).

You see? I've lost it. At any other time in my life that conversation would have gone very differently.

I've lost the ability to interpret mispronounced/dropped vowels. That's essentially the basis for all Southern language.

What will become of me?

On this saddest of days, the only heart that needs blessing is my own. So bless my heart, I sure hope I can regain my Southern translation abilities or I will surely perish.

We're just givers is all

If you've met me for five seconds you know there are two things I love in life:

• Hosting parties
• Giving presents

Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of other things I cherish - wine, family, soccer, my truck, friends and music, just to name a few.

But when I am hosting a party or crafting a present for someone then I am really in my element. It's a southern woman thing.

We believe in good food, good gifts and good times.

I get it honest.

For example, I was always taught to bring a hostess gift to any party I attend. That has been a baffling experience for my friends in Savannah. But then again, I suppose it isn't everyday that someone shows up to a party in a run-down apartment in the ghetto carrying a gift bag of wine and cheese.

But traditionally southern men would only marry women who possessed the trifecta of southern skills: cooking, cleaning and entertaining.

There is nothing I love more than cooking up a big southern meal, complete with appetizers and cocktails, served on my newest set of serving platters (courtesy of Target) to a group of my closest friends.

That's just the beginning. I have six pieces of this set alone.

I even turned a group project into a dinner party with Chicken Pie, green beans, rolls and a fresh jar of Pineapple Moonshine.

Needless to say, the project went well.

As far as gifts are concerned. Let me just put it to you this way.

• I spent 2 days after Thanksgiving making homemade Rock Candy for Christmas
• I have my Christmas cards addressed, stamped and ready to mail on December 1
• Within an hour of meeting someone I usually have at least 5 gift ideas.
• I keep a stockpile of Hallmark cards
• I refuse to keep a stash of all-purpose gifts because I want each gift to be special

If you're my friend then bless your heart, you better get ready for the influx of presents.

Allow me to translate...

Well actually I'm not going to be able to fully translate, but I will give it my best guess.

I have noticed that the words southern, country and redneck tend to be considered synonymous and while I am guilty of doing this as well, they are all very different words.

So for better or worse, here is how I interpret each of these words.

Southern
This word to me first and foremost denotes a person who lives in the South. Groundbreaking detective work, right? But the other assumption I usually make is that a southern person is from a confederate state, which is not always the case. There are many so-called southern states, like Kentucky, that fly the rebel flag like the war was yesterday but who never actually seceded and joined the confederacy.

Country
To me, a country person is one that lives off the beaten path, outside of the city and embraces the idea of being away from the hustle and bustle. Country people tend to have a very particular set of values and don't put as much emphasis on material wealth.

Redneck
This is the big word that people toss around like it doesn't have specific connotations. It does. Amidst all my kind-hearted jokes, I feel that the word redneck implies a person that is ignorant. Redneck is the word that makes me angrier than anything else. Call me country, call me southern, but do not call me redneck. I can joke and call myself that because some of my kin are redneck. But you can't call me that. Mainly because I'm not ignorant or a redneck, but also because it's a rude word in essence.

If you think about it, the word redneck is always used in jest. So consider that the next time you want to make a redneck joke.

So there you have it. My definitions of southern, country and redneck.

Bless your heart, if any of these definitions came as a surprise to you then I hope you never get into a linguistic battle with a redneck. You will surely lose.

Belle of the ball or Annie get your gun?

I've always thought that by mountain standards I would be considered a southern belle. I wear cardigans, pearls and high heels.

Sure, I have an affinity for firearms and I love to have my car covered in mud, but I thought the shear amount of pearls I own would negate all of that.

The mysterious concoction that makes the perfect southern belle has always eluded me, but it has seemed even more elusive since I moved to the home state of Scarlett O'Hara.

Last night I attended the first event in Savannah in which I was actually surrounded by native Savannahians. True southern beaus and belles.

The 2011 Belle and Beau of Savannah. Photo credit: Savannah Magazine intern, Megan Hall

It was glorious.

I felt like I was at a middle school dance and the captain of the football team had just asked me to dance. I felt insecure, underdressed (even though I wasn't) and totally unprepared (even though I wasn't).

It seems silly to say, but I realized that amidst all my country tendencies, I love the idea (and possible reality) of just being a simple southern belle.

Several months ago I began a secret love affair with work appropriate dresses and fun accessories. Now it seems as though the stars are aligning and finally giving me a non-worked related reason to dress up and be fabulous.

The dress I wore to the event.
Thank you Target clearance section for making me appropriately dressed.

Southern belle attire: halfway check (a wardrobe is never finished)
New authentic beau and belle friends: halfway check (we just met... let's take this slow)

I'm a parasol away from completing this mountain to Lowcountry transformation.

Actually let's not get too carried away here, but bless my heart I do love to put on a cocktail dress and pick out a hostess gift... maybe I could just get a matching gun and fully integrate my two worlds.

Tater Hill

One of the old mountain past times was hang gliding. Nowadays it tends to be more focused on paragliding, but I'm still quite partial to the hang gliding stories of old.

Hang glider.

Paraglider.

I haven't done it myself (yet) but my father used to be a hang gliding instructor at the one and only Tater Hill, NC.

My dad standing at the old launch point (It is a straight drop past the rock's edge).
In his own words, "It certainly had a pucker factor."

Tater Hill is the prime location to hang glide in the North Carolina mountains and is owned by Bubba Goodman (no, I'm not making that up).

However, reaching the launch point of Tater Hill requires some finesse. And by finesse I mean four-wheel drive and at least 20-30 minutes of going about two miles an hour straight up the side of a mountain. I digress.

Hang gliding seems romantic to me.

I can't imagine seeing this view from the air.

My dad tells the best stories about sitting on the side of the mountain with friends waiting for the wind to be blowing just the right direction, talking the day away as they overlooked the valley below. Romantic.

Dad and his friends also made friends with the people that owned the landing field below. Simpler times when you could just land a personal aircraft in someone's backyard and be invited in for tea instead of being shot.

I think I would enjoy every part of hang gliding except the jumping off a cliff portion. But that seems crucial to the experience. Again, I digress.

To really experience Tater Hill, you have to attend the Tater Hill Open which occurs annually in August and brings paragliders and hang gliders alike for a weekend of flying and fun.

At the Open, the sky is full of colored gliders as far as the eye can see.

This event shows a great collection of mountain folk, and the integration of an old past time within a new generation.

Skip to 1:30 to watch a great interview with Bubba Goodman about the origin of hang gliding at Tater Hill and all their shenanigans.

But what's a post without a redneck reference? I won't disappoint with this one.

At the base of Tater Hill there is a piece of a private property that has a very interesting guard.

Yes, that is a real tank.

Bless the heart of whoever trespasses onto this private property.

Koozies, Sweet Home Alabama and a muddin' truck

Southern or country weddings are a sight to behold when they are done redneck style.

This past weekend I photographed a wedding in South Carolina and while on a scale of 1 to redneck it was barely a 2, it did possess some key southern/country wedding elements.

Southern Element #1
The bride and groom provided each guest with a personalized beer koozie in the wedding color scheme (navy blue and pink) and the hair salon even provided koozies to the bridal party so the drinking could start early.

For those of you who are unaware, this is a koozie.

Side Note: Apparently southerners, particularly South Carolinians, do not like to be inconvenienced by cold hands while drinking beverages. I have watched girls in bars whip out 3-4 koozies and see which one matched their outfit better.

Southern Element #2
The happy couple left the reception in the groom's muddin' truck, which the bridesmaids carefully spray painted, glittered and streamered prior to the departure. The groom gave them permission to decorate any part of the truck except the tires.

Allow me to explain. For those of you who are unaware, a muddin' truck is something owned by most southern or country men. It is a piece of shit truck that tends to sit on really large tires, which are worth more than any other part of the truck by far. This truck is used to four-wheel in - you guessed it - Mud!

See? The tires are the most important part.

Southern Element #3
The bride processed into the ceremony to an acoustic rendition of Brad Paisley's "Then" and the reception included a variety of southern music selections including:

• "Sweet Home Alabama" by Lynyrd Skynyrd
• "Rocky Top" by the Osborne Brothers
• "Love Your Love The Most" by Eric Church
• "She's Country" by Jason Aldean

As far as weddings are concerned, this was a classy affair. The food was delicious (ravioli and roasted chicken), the venue was gorgeous (they wed in a beautiful garden) and the attire was sleek (navy blue cocktail length dresses for the girls and light gray tuxes for the boys).

However, this wedding lacked many key elements to push it further up the redneck scale. At this wedding,

• Camouflage was not part of the theme 
• The groomsmen were sober (enough)
• No one cracked a beer during the ceremony
• The bridal party did not arrive in muddin' trucks
• The reception decorations did not include old car parts
• There were no (visible) guns

Overall, if you ever have a chance to attend a true redneck wedding, I highly recommend it. Even if you just go to a wedding that contains some country/southern elements, it's better than nothing!

But in all seriousness, bless the hearts of the bride and groom, I hope they have a long, happy life together.

Side Note: I would have included images of the wedding, but the bride hasn't seen them yet, so they will have to be added later out of respect.

Temper tantrums, soccer balls and the southern condition

When I studied southern history in undergrad, my professor used to continually rekindle the discussion about the anger southerners carry with them.

Historically, southern men tend to be outwardly aggressive and southern women tend to be outwardly passive-aggressive.

I must see this. I feel like I will understand my life better.

Either way it's not real healthy.

Through class discussions we found many possibilities for the source of the anger:

• We lost the Civil War (well some southerners don't realize that... shhhh)
• We are anti-progressionists living in a land of progression
• We see the distinction of our values being chipped away
• Men and women are pushed into very strict gender roles from a young age
• Intellectualism is still not fostered like it should be

None of these are answers, because there is no answer. Southerners just have a predetermination for aggressiveness, no matter the form.

For better or worse, it is part of the southern condition.

In my last post I posed the question "Am I passive-aggressive and don't realize it?"

I posed that question because I've been feeling rather passive-aggressive lately. Not to worry, I haven't so much given into those urges, but the fact that I feel them makes me uncomfortable.

Case in point.

As I was playing soccer today I saw a group of legitimate players across the field. Instantly I was angry.

Why wasn't I that good anymore? Why did I ever stop playing? Will I ever be good again?

And then like a sign from God, I pulled my quad muscle on the same leg I am recovering from a groin injury. Awesome.

Sweet Jesus I'm never going to get back in shape.

Curse words were flying (without raising my voice of course), I was kicking the ball with my injured leg out of pure spite - it wasn't cute. No one would have blessed my heart at that moment.

But within a couple minutes I was perfectly calm. I have seen this phenomenon happen amongst friends and family more times than I can count, and it's always a southerner.

God bless our hearts, why are we so angry? We have Nascar, Daisy Duke and rednecks with mullets... what is there to be mad about?

Have you seen Megan anywhere?

It's possible that I'm going through a phase. A phase where I'm trying to "find myself."

At 23 years old, it feels like an appropriate time to scrap the way I've done things in the past and start fresh, but my question is how do I find the new path? And is there actually anything wrong with my old one?

Since I began my search a few weeks ago all I have successfully found is a pulled groin muscle (courtesy of my new dedicated workout routine), some weird tan lines (also courtesy of exercise) and quite a lot of things in my life that I want to question.

That's precisely how I pulled my groin muscle. Overextension = Having a pimp walk.

There is nothing wrong with questions, except when you're not sure of the answers.

Here are a few things I've been pondering on my journey:

• Everyone says I'm nice, but am I really?
• Am I passive-aggressive but don't realize it?
• Do I push myself to actually succeed or do I just choose things I know I can do?
• Do I ever really let people in my head or my heart?
• By being so adamant about my southern roots, am I limiting my future?

I've started to wonder how my southernness plays into all this.

After 5 years of having my southernness scrutinized by friends (or "friends") I might as well be a one woman PR firm with the south as my sole client, but what impact does that have on my life and relationships?

I should probably be a member.

I love the south and I'm proud of my heritage, but occasionally a thought weighs in the back of my mind that maybe I only attribute credit for my good qualities to my southern roots because it's all I know to do.

Who am I if not a southern woman? At this point I almost can't define myself any other way.

Don't get me wrong. I love trailer parks, rednecks with jacked up trucks and mullets just as much as the next girl, but sometimes I want to know who I am outside of all that.

Bless my heart, I hope this personal journey doesn't involve any more pulled muscles - they hurt!