Damn Yankee

That's me, a damn Yankee. Or a damn Canadian, depending who you ask. I've been thinking a lot lately about my choice to move south...since I'm raising a young'un here. It has been, and continues to be, a learning experience.

There were many things I was surprised by. The first thing was the staggering number of people who said "Bet you never seen this many rednecks in yer whole life." Wrong. I am from upstate New York where rednecks are not only common but most people aspire to be one. Which brings me to the next thing that surprised me. I have had this conversation too many times:

North Carolinian: "Where you from? Ain't from around here."

Me: "I'm from New York."
North Carolinian: "You don't sound like yer from New York City."
Well, Jim Bob, that's because I didn't say New York City. If you look closely at a map you will notice there is a STATE attached to that city.


At the very top up there you will see a dot labeled Massena and one below it labeled Potsdam. I am from a dot between those two dots that's just too small to label.

I was so surprised by the amount of people who made me feel like I moved to a different country and I had to earn my citizenship. That being said, my mother acted like I moved to a different country. On the occasion of my first southern Thanksgiving she asked "What are you doing for Thanksgiving? Do those people eat turkey there?" And because my mother was so easy to mess with I told her that, yes, "these people" do eat turkey on Thanksgiving but they all go out in the woods and have a contest. Whoever shoots the Thanksgiving turkey doesn't have to help pluck it, clean it, and cook it. She told me to shut up.

And can someone please tell me what is with this obsession with pickling things? Must you pickle everything? I'm going to need people to stop pickling pigs feet. Soon. Is there such a lack of disgusting things to eat in this country that you must pickle and then eat pigs feet? And to anyone reading this who has never been asked the question "Care for some pickled watermelon rind?" DECLINE IMMEDIATELY. I am speaking from experience! Politely say No, thank you and back away from the jar. Or, better yet, just swat the jar from their hand and do everyone else a favor.

I don't want anyone to think I don't like it here. I do...I may even be starting to love it here (which is good because I don't think I could convince Husband to move). I have met some of my favorite people since moving here and I have had some of my favorite moments - perhaps to be share in later posts. And how can I not have a soft spot in my heart for a place that introduced me to things like pimento cheese (that was life changing), barbecue, and sweet tea (that took time). It's where I met Husband and where I'll raise my munchkin. And while I have settled nicely into a life here for almost 10 years and it is now the place I call "home" I am constantly wondering when it will feel like home.