It's been a little over a year now since our family pulled up stakes in California and headed for the cotton fields of lower Alabama. We've survived tornado season and one of the hottest summers on record, even by Southern standards. We are used to the smell of the paper mill that blows into town from time to time; an aroma akin to a stale dirty diaper, and we are used to the pervasive lack of urgency that I suspect is not only a facet of life in the South, but of life in any small town.
Amelia is assimilating well to our new reality. She wears big bows in her ponytails and says things like, "Mommy, I have to tee-tee," and "Let's go over thay-er," or "Can I play with your hay-er?"She has friends with names like Sarah Elizabeth and Mary Helen and Colby Mac (double names are as popular as seersucker in the South- off the top of my head I can think of at least 3 people I know named Mary Frances). She's used to a simpler life now- one without freeways or department stores or amusement parks. Saturday afternoons mean swinging in the backyard or going over to the neighbor's house to say hello. This is the life that we wanted for her, and for ourselves.
Dave and I are adapting, but not necessarily assimilating. Beyond the big bows, seersucker suits and Sunday afternoon fried chicken buffets, there is another reality to life in the gentile south. It is the reality that stereotypes are made of. To some degree, any stereotype has a basis of truth, and this is what I have found here. For now, I'll just leave my commentary at that; I haven't lived in the South long enough to be an authority or to understand its rich history and complexity. We will never be true Southerners, but we are soaking in the life that our time here offers us. We have met people that we love and who love us and the slower pace affords us time to enjoy our children. This is all we need.
