The Deep South

While taking the dog and child on their walk this morning I began an inward debate about how I felt about the Deep South. It’s a complicated question. We have now lived in all three of the “true southern" states: Mississippi, Alabama, and Louisiana. I say true southern because that is how many people from here view it. A good friend of ours works on a rig just off the Louisiana coast. He is repeatedly called a Yankee by his coworkers from Louisiana. He’s from North Carolina. Once, while living in Mississippi, I had a local girl emphatically tell me that she could never live anywhere outside of the Deep South. “What about someplace like Georgia?" I asked. “Georgia? Heavens no," she replied, “they really aren’t part of the south."

We have lived in this region for four and a half years now. Words like y’all and wonky and geaux saints slip easily from my lips. I even know how to pronounce Tchoupitoulas and Tchoutacabouffa. I can hold long, intelligent conversations about deep sea drilling and ship building. I know that a transducer is not a made up word. I’ve kissed and alligator. Ive also eaten one. I’ve pet a nutria. I refuse to eat one of those- though I know the government once hoped that we all would. I make dang good shrimp and grits. I am excited for the day that my little girl will wear bows roughly the same size of her head. This place has made it’s mark.

There is a lot I have not liked about this region. Chiefly- it is unbearably difficult to be a part of a community around here. People already have their friends, they’ve known them for ages, and they just don’t need anymore. We get it, but it doesn’t make the rejection sting any less. We have learned that the locals are friendly, even warm, but not to expect much more. Ive learned not to tell people about living in New York or England- it’s better to just say that your dad was an army man, your husband a Texan, and just leave it at that. Three states and four churches later we have discovered that the trick to making lasting friendships down here is finding the “expats" - people who have somehow made their way to the region, or, at least, those who left town for a while and only recently have returned. There we have formed some of our most precious friendships- people who we will love for the rest of our lives.

Other things I don’t like? The insects. Good grief there are a lot of them. And they aren’t anything like the ones you are in the rest of the country. These guys are evil. Demon gnats that leave marks on your body for months, mosquitoes by the billions, nasty love bugs that eat the paint off your car and- by far the worst- fire ants.

I am mildly allergic to fire ants, my body swells wherever I am bitten, and I itch, no BURN, for weeks afterwards, so I am a **bit** more dramatic about them than your average bear. My first full blown episode with the dreaded creatures was while we were living in Alabama. My husband wanted me to mow the lawn. That in its own right was a bit of an event because, you see, I grew up in a household where anything outside of the house was considered “man territory." I never touched the grill, scooped snow, trimmed hedges, plucked weeds, and certainly never mowed the lawn. I have cleaned gutters, but only because it was great fun climbing ladders and getting to be on the roof. In my mind it never fell into the category of “work" and so I happily would go outside and do it. Glenn, on the other hand, did not grow up with such a family and did not think too highly of my notion of gender roles. Apparently they all pulled weeds. What a disappointment. On that particular day, I had lost the argument and was sulkily dragging the lawn mower out. Now, as I tell this story, bear in mind that I was a complete lawn mowing novice. I did not know how to make pretty or straight lines, that you shouldn’t wear flip flops or even that you need to tip the front end up in order to turn the darned thing. So there I was, in flip flops, sweating in the hot southern summer sun, muttering unladylike words because I couldn’t figure out how to maneuver the cursed machine. So I improvised: I would push the mower forward, rotate the dumb thing to the left, and then, walking backwards, pull it back to the other side of the yard again. It was an entertaining sight for all the neighbors, I’m sure. About halfway through the front of the yard, while walking backwards and focusing on not running my toes over, I stepped into a massive fire ant pit. Within seconds my feet were covered and, in perfect unison, they all began to bite. (Which is another wicked thing about those buggers- they wait to bite you, and then all do it at the same time. What the heck is that all about?!) I *might* have freaked out a little. And possibly panicked. And run screeching into the house like a lunatic. Five seconds later I was naked in the shower washing the spawns of hades down the drain, but the damage was done. My feet were on fire and I was beyond upset. So I did what any mature, independent, confident married woman would do- I called my daddy. It was the right thing to do, of course, he sympathized and agonized over my misery and agreed that it was very silly of me to even consider touching a lawn mower. My husbands reaction? Oh, he laughed. And then showed me how to properly operate the machine. Though that was a bit of a futile gesture- I have yet to touch the thing since.

There are a lot of things that we love about where we live too. The people are relaxed and unpretentious, there are tons of fun festivals, the weather is glorious from September til May (we won’t talk about the other months), beaches are close and beautiful, everything I need is close by, and the seafood is awesome. People here know how to have a good time. They value their families and their weekends. They eat obscene amounts of shrimp and crawfish and sell daqueris at the mall. After you have a baby, they write his name on a paper crab and stick it over his hospital bassinet.

For every frustration and major negative I find something great about where we are. Is this my dream place to live? No. Not by a long shot. But I am truly thankful for the time that we have had here. This is where I spent the tail end of my 20s, enjoyed being a newly wed, birthed my first child and cemented some of my favorite friendships. This place has grown me from a bumbling college student to a slightly less bumbling adult. Life has not been easy. But it has been good and I absolutely believe that I have been abundantly blessed.