Quite often I have moments when I stop and think to myself, "This could only happen down here." I really have no grounds to base this on, because I’ve only lived "down here" and have no desire or plan to live anywhere else.
When we have traveled out of the country or to other parts of the country it goes without saying there is an entirely different feel to the atmosphere and interactions with people. Down south there seems to be a much more open line of communication even with total strangers. We greet each other in elevators or else it just feels weird. We say "Yes, Ma’am'" to ladies our mother's age. And we compliment one another passing by in the grocery aisle.
In the south we swap recipes with sacred intentions of giving future gifts to our friend's tables. A recipe is more than items being measured; there is usually a good story that goes along with Grandma's dumplings and Aunt Irene's Bread Pudding. We celebrate the great outdoors and interact with the seasons in unison with mosquitoes and lightening bugs. In the spring we host crawfish boils and in the summer we catch from the Gulf or show up at the beach to buy from those who did. In the winter we kill deer, hoist them up, skin them, and process the meat for the freezer. We also put out wildlife cameras and shuffle through the outcome of raccoons, wild pigs, and a bobcat or two with awe.
I laughed at this the other day when my husband came home with wide eyes and pictures on his phone. Up at what we call Barker's Corner his truck was stopped due to an enormous snapping turtle that decided to cross the intersection to another pond or creek. Traffic quickly stopped in both directions and phones were whipped out for photos. As my husband neared the creature a young man walked up and hoisted the beast up. The boy said, "Hey! You're Ms. Foreman's husband." My husband nodded that he was and asked him his name. He told him, and Clay realized he had coached his little brother in little league, and I had taught many in the family at our little school.
Right there with everyone stopped at the only four way stop in our community my husband asked the boy we know as Hammer if he knew what to do with that thing. He quickly replied that he did and there would be turtle soup soon. Pictures were snapped. The turtle was put in the back of an old pickup truck and everyone carried on their merry way, some heading into town and others returning. And that is the story of the huge turtle that was no more and the freezers that were made more plump.
Do these things happen in other parts of the country? I'm sure they do. I am sure out west people swap wheat recipes and maybe interact with some wildlife. I had a friend from Montana once tell me incredible stories of how the men go out hunting wildcats each year. When she showed me the pictures of these cats I was quite taken aback. And I have heard stories out west where they kill huge rattlesnakes and hike into deep red canyons. Up in Maine the summer season annually hosts one of my closest friends where she reports the buttery light delicacy of plump lobster fresh from the Atlantic Ocean. And the cool nights on the water toasting to a clam bake with crisp white wine.
I have not experienced many of these things, and yet I am sure they take place and those born and raised there have great pride in their traditions. However, being a Louisiana Girl with a father's family steeped in the hills of Alabama the south is all I have known and will take the critters and insects, the humidity and fickle weather, the hurricanes and tropical storms if I can have the sand bars and winding rivers, the rabbits and squirrels sharing the back yard and garden, and the ripe cold watermelon and fresh snapped peas.
William Faulkner once wrote, "I discovered that my own little postage stamp of native soil was worth writing about and that I would never live long enough to exhaust it."
He lived in the south. Need I say more?
