Dear Hearts and Gentle People

In August 2004, I found myself moving from sunny, southern Texas to the 'North,' as if it were a distant, foreign land. Pennsylvania-- north of the Mason Dixon. Everything was new and unique, far different than what I had always known. So far it has been an epic adventure. Many life changes have taken place there. I've had three children-- three "Yankee" children as they have been jokingly named by well-meaning family and friends, but "you can't help where you're born." Our girls might not be G.R.I.T.S. (Girls Raised In The South), but we try our best to expose them to the genteel manners of the South about twice a year.


Those who live in the North are sweet, wonderful people, but it might take a few weeks or even years to find out. The natives are private, quiet, they don't dangle their hearts out in front of them, nor do they stretch out their arms to hug complete strangers, telling them "I know your Mama." If they did, the Northerner being hugged would be wondering how they knew Mama or more importantly how does that information make a hug from this stranger okay? Those in the North have big hearts; it just takes time for them to warm up. It's a slow progression. Everything has a time and place, and more than likely it's not now-- they won't be randomly striking up conversations in the produce section of the store, they won't answer you if you're from the South and you ask them where they got their hair done or about that cute purse. When Northerners speak, you better listen up. It will be blunt, to the point-- grating on the ears of the Southerner and their melodic, soothing ways of speaking. Northerners don't waste words. Well, at least until you've known them for a while-- a long while.


After six years of being away from the South, I've felt very aware of my 'Northerness,' even my husband made mention of that. I lived in Texas for 24 years, so you would think my 'Southerness' would run deep enough to hold back the 'Yankee' tide of manners and culture. This most recent trip down, however, has me wondering. Something is missing, or, rather, that some things have changed. I feel caught somewhere between North and South. I love both places, but when I'm in either place I have to remind myself what is proper social protocol. For example, women in the South love to talk. They can talk about anything and peppered with the right amount of "bless your/her/his/its hearts" and a reference or two to 'Mama' or 'Daddy,' they can just about say anything they want to (for good or ill). This is generally for people who are at least acquainted. It's not near as much fun to tell a stranger that 'so-and-so' ran off with another woman and left his wife with two young children, bless her little heart.


For those less acquainted-- strangers-- it really doesn't take long to know quite a bit about about others. I met (and I use the term loosely because I've never seen her before and still don't know her name) an older lady of very fine Southern ways. In less than thirty seconds, I found out that she was cold, had intended on taking a sweater with her when she left the house but forgot, was too busy for naps, worked at a grocery store as a cashier, that she was too old to be the only register open on a Saturday morning of a holiday weekend and told her boss that she really couldn't be doing all that by herself again. This was where I stalled. I felt I should know what to say, do. I was surprised and weirdly fascinated with my confusion on how to respond. Is she talking to me? Why is she telling me this? Is she expecting me to say something? If I do say something, what should it be? Who is this woman any way? What is she really trying to say? But that was it. She fell silent. I never said a word. The interaction ceased. What was the point in telling me all that? Was that purely a social exchange? Like talking about the weather? It would have been a lot simpler to just say "Bless your heart" and let it go, but no, I've lost my Southern finesse in summoning a sincere, non-confused "Bless your heart."


Some may mock the Southern ways but  buried beneath my adopted Northern attitudes and my native, out of practice Southerness, I found the simpleness of Southern speech and their lives deep in my soul, begging me to remember. In a little white house, on a piece of land that has been occupied for decades, I remembered why life here is simple, solid. Life doesn't get any sweeter than honey from Uncle Jay's bees nor is it as flavorful as the tomatoes grown in the summer sun. Life is lived in a steady course day after day. While some things have changed, their morals and principles have never wavered. Faith is simple. It is what it is because, well, it is. In her quiet, unassuming way, Aunt Katie told me about her life in less than thirty seconds. "Things may get hard. Life has a way of bein' hard, but that's okay. As long as you got the Lord beside ya, everything will be just fine. Y'all be all right." I knew what to say that time. A simple "Yes, ma'am." Simple wisdom from a simple woman.

Standing there in Aunt Katie's kitchen, an old tune ran through my mind, Bing Crosby weaving his way through her words and Uncle Jay's stories of being in the Navy during WWII and growing up in backwoods Arkansas.  

I love those dear hearts and gentle people

Who live in my hometown

Because those dear hearts and simple people

Will never ever let you down

They read the Good Book

From Fri to Monday

That's how the weekend goes

I've got a dream house

I'll build there one day

With picket fence and ramblin' rose

I feel so welcome each time that I return

That my happy heart keeps laughing like a clown

I love those dear hearts and gentle people

Who live and love in my hometown

Home, home, sweet home

Home, home, sweet home

So while I find myself caught hovering on either side of the Mason Dixon, I have to appreciate the talkative nature of the Southerners for they truly are dear hearts and gentle people.