Greetings! y’all from the land O’ sweet tea, oak trees, and gators.
I did indeed arrive safely to Mobile late Wednesday night, and, no doubt thanks to all of your good flight juju, was blessed with three wonderful legs of my journey, journeying legs boasting of non-full flights, extra leg room and two amicable Southern ladies with whom I had two interesting conversations, the first of which centered on water-skiing and Pacific Northwest mountain ranges.
The other woman I talked with, on the way to Gulfport, MS, had lost her entire home to Katrina, and so we spoke of the storm, and of hope, of patience and rebuilding, about the qualities constituting a “home,” and the necessity for waterproof housing. I listened to her discuss how such great loss forced her and her husband to understand what it meant to need versus to want. How it made them see, to fully realize what was important to them, and what possessions could be classified as “necessities.” I listened to her detail how simple her new home will be, but how wonderful it will look upon remodeling and rebuidling.
I will admit that before traveling South I couldn’t pretend to understand a region of this country populated by those that would endure such repeated devastation and stay to rebuild. While Katrina did indeed destroy much never touched by another hurricane, there were many families who spoke of losing homes and properties in previous storms. Some had rebuilt three times.
I remember sitting on my grandmother’s porch the week after Katrina and shaking my head along with hers at the sheer insanity of living in such a clearly volatile place. Didn’t everyone in the South know that there was plenty of room elsewhere? Room to live and breathe and grow and build where hurricanes would not ravage?
Upon my first visit to Bama I talked to a man who instantly seemed able to read the lack of understanding in my eyes I thought I had been appropriately and sufficiently masking.
Over a glass of sweet tea he asked me how long I had lived in Spokane.
“Save the three years I lived in Oregon, all my life,” I told him.
“So, it’s home,” he more asserted than asked.
“Yes.”
“And can you imagine any other place being ‘home’ to you?”
I paused for a moment.
“No. I can’t. I loved growing up there.”
He smiled knowingly.
“Well, that right there is how we feel about this place. It’s our home.”
I nodded, finally seeing so simply and so clearly that these people weren’t “different,” or “crazy,” or even more stubborn than myself. They were just home. And I knew in that moment that I would have responded the same way had any sort of force, natural or otherwise, destroyed my home. I surely would fight to rebuild. I would hold on to every street corner, cling to every blade of grass representing even an inch where my sister and I used to spend our afternoons traipsing around our neighborhood.
The second woman I spoke to on my flight into Mississippi shared the aforementioned sentiments and sense of attachment so clearly stated by the man I encountered on my first visit.
“People think we’re crazy, I know,” she told me as our plane waited for final clearance to leave Memphis. She was sitting on the aisle, a plastic sack of magazines and snacks she had brought the only items separating us, occupying the otherwise empty middle seat. “And, you know, I see why they would think that. But we don’t want to leave. We like it here. Here is home.” She looked at me, smiled, and sighed. “And anyway, our house was paid for.”
I nodded and continued listening as she shared details about her losses, and about her job on a nearby Air Force base, and about how “lovely” her new bathtub would be once they started rebuilding.
She called me “sugar,” and hugged me, as we deboarded.
———–
Not only are the people down here hopeful and friendly and big with the employment of smile-inducing pet names, the weather here is INCREDIBLE. For the past two days the temperature has been upward of 80 degrees, and I find myself continually resting blissfully in a sun-induced coma.
Yesterday I took an extended nap on Chris’ patio and woke up at least two shades darker (or you know, redder) than the typical Kerri In April skin tone. (See: pasty, blind you white.)
Today I had to wear sun block.
In April.
I love the South.
Sounds like an amazing adventure, Kerri. Take care.
Beautiful entry…the more we seek to understand rather than contrast with others, the more communion we find with our humanity.
Home is a loaded word, with a depth of meaning only a handful of words contain…like Love. Family. Faith.
Glad you made it there safely and are relaxed with your Sweetheart and enjoying the sun (use that sunblock, girl..from one pasty white chick to another)!
xo
I really enjoyed reading this, as a transplanted Yankee living in the South I can understand your before and after ways of seeing things. I love it down here, I feel such a sense of home here that I never felt when I was growing up. Yet now, I *do* feel a connection to my Nothern-ness, it’s strange.
And yes, they do like pet-names. Dearheart, sugar, babycakes, honey, darling – I’ve been called all of those and more by strangers :)
Glad you made it safely, enjoy your time together (like you wouldn’t!) :)
PS – I think that the South has the best Springtimes ever.
Thanks for this wonderful post on Southern perspective…I lived in Biloxi MS for 4 months, and this post made me kind of miss it…
it sounds like the south is reeling you in. don’t get too attached, as i would miss you even more than i do already just knowing you were so far away. if you can, bring back some sunscreen-requiring sunlight for your hans. my pasty whiteness is such that it defies description. love you.
Cat, it is quite an adventure down here. And, thanks! I will be sure to heed the signs, and not feed the gators. ;)
Thanks Sar. I love how loaded a word home is. In fact, although I am happy to be here, and happy to be basking in the sun, I am missing home quite a bit right now.
KC, I think you are right about the spring-times. Although La Conner, WA in full tulip splendor is hard to beat. :)
Hey! We (almost) ate at Ruby Tuesdays in Biloxi. Ok, so that was a bit of a random story. But from the ten minutes I spent there it seemed nice. :)
I can’t imagine being so far away from you on a permanent basis Hans. That just wouldn’t work for me. :) And I love being a Pacific Northwest girl at heart. A Pacific Northwest girl set to have a tan in April, woot, woot.
uh…you almost ATE a Ruby Tuesdays? yikes! doesn’t this guy ever feed you?!
hehe miss you :)
Tina, seriously. I promise it will never happen again. ;) Miss YOU. Happy Easter!
The perspective you gain just by conversations is priceless. Thanks for sharing this.
I love when we travel South. Something about the sweet tea and the sunshine makes everything right in the world. Cept all those snakes..and bugs. I can do without them.
Sounds like you met some interesting people along the way though….that’s pretty cool. Wouldn’t it be nice if we got stuck on a flight with good people all the time. Not always the case….I’m having flashbacks now of a horrible flight I had…ugh @ that woman grabbing my leg freaking out when the lights went out. WTF was she thinkin grabbin my leg!?!
sugar, enjoy the sun and warmth [both of the sun and chris :) ] and happy belated easter :)
I’m like, giddy with excitement that you are so close. You are such a sweetheart for wanting to reach out and understand the people on the Coast. I smooch you.
So true, L.B. Thank YOU. ;)
KimmyK, no kidding with the horrible no good very bad flights. That lady was probably thinking: “Hey! I am going to die! So heck, I might as well grab my neighbor’s hot leg!” ;) But yeah, my favorites are the Sir Coughs-A-Lot, or the She Who Must Talk In Decibels So Loud So As To Gather The Attention Of The ENTIRE Plane.
Will do (and am doing!) Kim. Thanks babe. Happy Belated Easter to you, too. :)
A, I think we commented at the exact same time. :) I am SO dang excited to see you! 3 days! weeee!
Hmmmm. I’ve moved a lot. I’ve loved a lot. For me, “home†isn’t the building, the town, even the people in the town. It’s not the beautifully appointed house, it’s not the memories of times spent breathing the air in one particular place. It’s not the certainty of place, or the feeling of continuity. “Home†– at least for me – lies with the person who holds my heart. “Home†can be in Spokane or Mobile or Boston or DC. Place doesn’t matter. The holder of your heart does. The place you build your house is just the place you build your house. It’s the people in it who make it “home.†So I can see wanting to build your house in the place where all the people you love build their houses. But I sure don’t understand why you’d all keep building in a place that blows you down.
Kiss that sweet man o’ yours for me, KerriBerri. I’ll kiss mine for you.
I miss you, Adopted Mom O’ Mine.