Does anyone remember the old Motel 6 commercials with Tom Bodett? His famous tagline was, “We’ll leave the light on for ya!” Now he was a Yankee, but a country Yankee, apparently.
That’s one of the sayings I remember my grandparents and the older people of my childhood saying often. If they knew you would be traveling late, they would say “We’ll leave the light on.” It seemed like such a small thing. Yet in the world of today what a special thought. Someone caring enough for you to leave the lights on, so you don’t have to struggle to find the key, the bell, or whatever else.
I recently read a column by a guy who wrote beautifully about the simple art of being Southern. This is one of the things I immediately thought of. Little sayings like, “Oh, it’s just a little way down there,” and, “It’s a far piece back in the mountains to where he lives.”
Being from a family that is literally one generation out of the hills of North Georgia, my accent and speech are colored more by the hills than the red clay of Middle Georgia. Although when I’m drinking, I do tend to believe I sound like Shelby Foote on The Civil War probably more than what I actually do.
But being Southern is much more than an accent. I think the South is the last place in America where you can still find time crawling by. Now I don’t mean Atlanta. I mean Greensboro, Ga.; Millen, Ga.; Walterboro, S.C.; Georgetown, S.C.; Ariton, Ala.; Perry, Fla.; Crystal River, Fla.; and towns like that scattered from Texas to North Carolina, Tennessee to Florida.
Places where you can still find good meat-and-three, country stores, farmers wearing overalls not purchased from a hipster, and benches where old men sit and watch the world pass by.
These places and people are probably why The South has stayed so welcoming and filled with such loving people for the most part. We are definitely independent and stubborn folks, but we are the first to stand up in times of need. Rednecks, white trash, and blue-collar people are the first to be drafted anyway. So why not volunteer?
Being Southern usually means you have your name and then your full name that your Momma calls you by when you’re in trouble. For instance, I am James or Jim, but whenever I hear “James Kenneth!” I know my Momma is upset. 47 years old and if my full name is used I immediately duck for cover and think about what I must have done. In fact, I think that’s the reason we have two names; it’s an evolutionary mechanism to alert young Southern men to trouble.
Southerners are closely connected to the land as well. Yes, there are city versions of us. Of course, there is, but even in the old days they still had small gardens and animals.
My great-grandfather Aderhold, for instance, lived not far from the stadium at Georgia Tech, yet he had chickens, rabbits, and goats, and raised vegetables. Out here, my wife and I grow a big garden every year. Well, I use the tiller and she grows the vegetables. That’s how it really goes.
Our freezers are filled with games from friends and my adventures, fish from the area lakes, vegetables we grew, and we love friends who bring us farm-fresh eggs.
In the end, being Southern means being friendly and loving your neighbor. Even if they ain’t from around here.
Tight lines and following seas y’all!